114 MY SPORTING HOLIDAYS 



home later on, a somewhat dejected trio. I relieved 

 my feelings on the way back by putting an express 

 bullet through a willow-grouse sitting on a tree, thus 

 providing a meal for Rover ; and further consoled 

 myself by killing a seventeen-pound salmon in the 

 river on my return. After dinner I spent an hour 

 or so in vainly endeavouring to explain to the satis- 

 faction of Ivor, the landlord, and myself why I had 

 not taken the chance two seconds earlier ' on the rise.' 

 The whisky-punch slightly alleviated the situation and 

 soothed our feelings. But that bull was yet to be 

 mine. 



Three days later Rover, in the heart of the forest, 

 informed us in unmistakable canine language that we 

 had there and then disturbed an elk in his mid-day 

 couch. There was the bed, and there the fresh 

 gigantic track, which had been with me in imagination 

 like a nightmare since the first day, showing that a 

 good bull had heard us, or winded us, and departed, 

 noiselessly and swiftly, unheard and unseen. For 

 five mortal hours, led by Rover, we followed that 

 track. Was he never going to rest ? An eight-foot 

 stride at least, and for six miles in a straight line, 

 back to the hill where I saw my first bull. ' Can it 

 be the same animal ?' I thought. We gave him and 

 ourselves an hour's rest for lunch, and so endeavoured 

 to dispel from his mind all suspicion of pursuit. At 

 last he has taken a pull. Yes, here he has walked, 

 has bathed, has stood, has fed. We crawl gently on 

 through dense birch cover. Rover is tired, and for 

 once allows his attention to be distracted by a brood 

 of willow-grouse. They get up in all directions, with 

 a noise and flutter that, apparently, to our anxious 

 senses, can be heard for miles. Our muttered 



