EARLY DAY STORIES. 199 



or six younger bucks, not so large as the big one, but yet of 

 good size, and there were also cows, calves and yearlings. 

 Some were feeding, some playing, and all were moving 

 slowly along to the south — the wind being in the west. 

 Among those in the lead were two young bucks, probably 

 two years old, that were butting and pushing each other and 

 rattling their horns together. 



It was time to pick out my elk and do some shooting. 

 They were now not over seventy-five steps away. There 

 was no excuse for a careless aim this time. Selecting one 

 of the young bucks of fair size, but not large, and taking 

 careful aim, I fired, the ball striking low down just back of 

 the shoulder. He made tv/o or three jumps and fell. The 

 herd started to run, but soon bunched and stopped to look 

 back. It was easy to get another, but we did not need it, 

 and I had never made a practice of killing game when it 

 was not wanted. Dressing the elk — a very fine fat one — 

 skinning out one ham and cutting the meat from the bone 

 in as large pieces as possible, putting it in each end of a 

 grain sack in which had been carried oats for Flora's dinner, 

 tying the sack behind the saddle and mounting Flora, I went 

 back to camp. When within hearing of the cook's tent, I 

 listened to Sam who had just begun to get supper. He was 

 singing his favorite love ditty the chorus of which ran thus : 



"Ten thousand miles away. 

 Ten thousand miles away, 

 O, I will go to my true love, 

 Ten thousand miles away." 



Sam was a splendid cook — he did his best that night. 

 We were all hungry — we were all happy — we had elk steak 

 for supper. 



