ELK-HUNTING IN NORWAY 113 



boggy and moss-grown. In the shade of the woods 

 the ground was carpeted with moss and grass, while 

 cranberries, blueberries, and bilberries grew in profu- 

 sion, a constant temptation to the thirsty hunter. In 

 places the fir-woods opened, and it was possible to see 

 some hundreds of yards here and there. ' If I can 

 only see a bull elk,' thought I, ' anywhere within range, 

 surely I can kill him ': a great brute 6 feet high, and 

 with four times the vulnerable area of a woodland stag ! 

 But pride goes before a fall. Within three hours 

 from the start, where the forest changed on the 

 higher ground into mingled birch and pine, we came 

 suddenly into sight of a good bull elk lying down, and 

 I did not kill him. No fresh tracks had been seen, 

 but, though Rover had in his own method given us 

 previous warning of some kind of game at hand, it 

 was an instance of a practically unexpected as well as 

 a sudden chance. Following the direction of Ivor's 

 pointing finger, I made out the dark outline and massive 

 horns of the first living elk I had ever set eyes on. 

 I can see him now. My rifle-bead was promptly on 

 his shoulder as he rose, 100 yards away; but some 

 demon of overcaution prompted me to dwell on the 

 aim until he stood upright. It was but a question of 

 seconds. 4 He will stand for a moment,' thought I, 

 4 and give himself away.' But not a bit of it. In the 

 act of rising, and without a pause, he swung round 

 the birch-trees, giving me but a snapshot at his great 

 gray haunches, and was gone. He was obviously hit, 

 for here was a splash of blood. We followed his trail 

 for a mile or more ; but the great hoof -tracks showing 

 strong and deep, with gigantic stride and with no 

 apparent check, gave no hope of a badly-wounded 

 elk. We saw no more elk that day, and returned 



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