128 MY SPORTING HOLIDAYS 



bigger the bull, the more readily can he be held at 

 bay by a dog who understands his business and does 

 not approach the elk too closely, while the hunter 

 creeps up within gunshot and slays him. But in this 

 case an elaborate sell was in store for us. Creeping 

 slowly on, soon I saw a remarkably handsome young 

 collie barking under a tree for all he was worth. No 

 elk was in sight. The game, whatever it was, was 

 evidently treed. The dog welcomed our arrival with 

 a wagging tail, and redoubled his noise and exertions 

 to reach, if you please, a squirrel a common or 

 garden red squirrel frolicking on the topmost bough 

 of a small spruce-fir. It was for this, forsooth, we 

 had traversed a mile or more of forest and marsh 

 in record time in fact, almost at the double with 

 rifle at the trail and ready loaded. The humour 

 of the situation, and the good looks and pleasant 

 manners of the culprit, saved our tempers. It was 

 apparently a hopeless case of canine debauchery and 

 demoralization. 



We returned homewards through a long stretch of 

 fir-wood, thinking all sport over for the day, but in 

 this respect were agreeably disappointed. Towards 

 evening, after a long tramp, and not three miles from 

 home, on a densely-wooded ridge, Rover suddenly 

 winded elk. We followed his eager lead for a few 

 hundred yards. It happened to be an easy approach, 

 along a level stretch of moss-carpeted forest, directly 

 up wind. Suddenly we passed from scent to view. 

 Ivor, of course, saw the elk first, feeding in a thick 

 patch of trees not 80 yards away. I caught sight of 

 a large gray side, but it was evidently a cow. A bull, 

 we knew, was there, although we had seen no tracks 

 to judge by, for the rutting season had commenced ; 



