OF SHOOTING AND FISHING — 195 
cending the hill over fallen timber was very hard 
work; trees were piled upon each other in a dread- 
ful tangle. One blue grouse (C. obscura) was the 
extent of the game we saw going up. It rose beside 
me and settled on a branch a few feet above my 
head. I dared not shoot, however, as I was in deer 
country. Going along the ridge, quite a number of 
blue grouse were flushed, but they were not inter- 
fered with. Signs of recent elk visits were now nu- 
merous and presently we found the heads and feet 
of some recently killed cows—killed, no doubt, by 
ranchers for their winter’s meat. The end of the 
gale seemed to come about noon, when for a little it 
was simply awful and then died down. As I stood 
_ listening to the creaking of the timber, I heard close 
by the shrill bugle of a wapiti bull. It sounded 
like the high note of a discordant tin flute. Pres- 
ently I heard it again, this time accompanied 
by a snort, but although it must have been quite 
close I could see nothing of it. Having actually 
heard one, made me very keen, and I determined to 
descend to Beaver Creek, cross it and climb over 
into the Fall River basin. My descent was through 
timber which had been burned, and the gale of the 
previous night had wrought great havoe. 
By the creek I ate my lunch and, determining to 
kill a wapiti before night, climbed into the basin. 
It was delightful to find myself upon a bare place 
on the summit with an unobstructed view in nearly 
every direction. The basin appeared to be about 
twelve or fifteen miles across each way and it was 
surrounded by forest-clad mountains with bare 
