112 SPORT IN VANCOUVER 



and I think we were all rather sad when we 

 turned in that night. 



September 9th. It had rained all night and 

 was still pelting when we started. I had to 

 walk with a stick and was unable to carry my 

 own rifle. 



In a couple of hours we came to the spot 

 where we had left the track the previous 

 evening. 



Smith was a fine tracker, I have seldom seen 

 a better. 



The bull was going strong and well. We soon 

 came to where he had rested for the night, but 

 there was no pool of blood, so the wound was 

 evidently not serious. In the early morning 

 he had fed down the valley. After about three 

 hours' tracking we came on to the shore of 

 another lake (Lake No. 2), and thought the 

 bull had taken to the water — to the edge of 

 which he had gone down through heavy 

 swampy ground covered with coarse grass. 

 Taking a cast round, we found, however, that 

 he had turned right back and gone up the valley 

 we had just come down, but on the other side 

 of the river connecting the two lakes. 



Following up the track we suddenly heard a 

 crash right ahead, but I could see nothing. 

 Smith dashed on and I heard a shout at the 

 top of his voice, " Come on, Sir John. Quick ! " 



