AN ELK SEASON. 159 



ous and happy. Two other farmers, part-owners I sus- 

 pect, also turned up. Mathias took a long look at the bull, 

 assured himself that it was very fat, then crossed over to 

 me and solemnly shook hands, a ceremony which is the 

 equivalent of the Norwegian " thank you." He and the 

 whole party were in high spirits, for the elk was in size 

 and condition a most satisfactory perquisite. There is 

 rather a shrill-voiced humanitarianism which condemns 

 the killing of wild game. I think if these good people 

 could but see the joy of the Norsk farmers when an elk is 

 killed on their ground they might incline to a fairer judg- 

 ment of the hunter and his craft. 



After giving final instructions to Mathias concerning 

 the head and horns, Peder and I resumed our quest, and 

 I shall always a look upon the later events of that after- 

 noon as among the luckiest of my hunting experiences. 

 About eleven we lunched upon the hillside, and afterwards 

 commenced a long and quite fruitless search for elk. For 

 five hours we walked steadily, visiting many likely haunts, 

 and during the whole time never came upon a single track 

 or sign. 



It was already four o'clock when we found ourselves 

 upon another part of the same hill on which we had started 

 the bull the day before. The slope was even more than 

 usually precipitous and covered with a dense growth of 

 birch. As we had so far seen no track and the dog had given 

 no warning, I was just about to give the word for home 

 (some dozen or more switchback miles away) when Bis- 

 marck bristled and began to lead forward in a manner 

 suggestive of possibilities. 



The wind had now changed and was blowing up the 

 hillside behind us, so we took a wide cast to cover our ad- 

 vance, lest the elk, which we were now pretty sure was not 

 far off, should, as is the frequent habit of these animals, 

 have lain down to windward of his own trail. It was 



