BIG GAME OF NORTH AMERICA ae 
‘ | one of the forty or fifty beasts which live all the year round in 
ee this little district i is within that dark belt of timber, worse luck 
bg itt + 
_ Since June there has been no rain in the State of Colorado, 
nor can even the most sanguine of us see any promise of rain 
to come in the crystal clear vault above us. 
_ By day the sun is hot enough to make men sit about in 
their shirt-sleeves, but by night the frost makes us draw our 
blankets closer, and almost wish for another pair. It is perfect 
weather for picnicing in the woods, but it is impossible weather 
for still hunting. ; 
Between them, sun and frost and mountain air have made 
the woods dry as a chip and crisp as a biscuit. The woodland 
solitudes are more noisy than Chinatown at New Year: the 
leaves rattle like dead men’s bones, and the twigs seem to 
explode like fire-crackers under your feet. 
But it is September ; the hunter’s moon has begun, and 
now and again, just about dawn or towards evening, there is a 
hollow whistle from the depths of the pine forests, followed by 
a succession of hoarse choking grunts. This is the love song 
of the great bull, and for the moment he is careless of rustling 
leaves and snapped twigs, and, being in love, is as great a fool 
as a biped under similar circumstances. Nor is love the bull 
elk’s only excuse for imprudence just now. In summer the 
great woods are still, but for the hum of insect life ; in winter 
they are still as death ; but now, in late autumn, they are full 
ofsounds. Winter is coming, and. everything that has breath 
is busy laying in stores for the approaching snow-time. All 
day long there is a rattle among the brush as creatures bustle 
through it; all day long the great fir-cones come thumping 
_ down from the pine-tops, while the squirrels who are gathering. 
_ them chatter and swear at one another with the vigour and 
bitterness of rivals in business. Chipmunks, engaged in the 
2 same work of harvest, skip like long-legged streaks of light 
_ along the logs, and the short-tailed grey rats are as busy as 
2 either squirrels or chipmunks. As you cross the hill-side, your 
