IN THE GULA VALLEY 137 



head, it was true, but still a fine shootable beast. I 

 moved warily down the hill for some yards, followed 

 at a distance by Ivor and Rover. I settled comfort- 

 ably in a cool snow-patch behind a birch-tree ready 

 for the shot, while Ivor sat on Rover's head to keep 

 him quiet, the elk meanwhile being hidden behind the 

 scrub, and made certain of that bull. 



Alas for human hopes ! Presently the head of the 

 leading cow appeared for a moment over a birch-tree 

 150 yards away. She gazed inquiringly in our direc- 

 tion, and promptly moved up the hill behind the strip 

 of cover, instead of coming straight on, as an innocent 

 and well-conducted elk should have done. Then I 

 caught a glimpse of the bull's side through the trees 

 as he stood for a moment. I could for that moment 

 have killed him, but waited for a better chance, which 

 never came. A few seconds later, more by sound 

 than sight, I knew the elk were running. They had 

 seen something, or a treacherous current of wind had 

 given me away. I ran a few yards up the hill, caught 

 sight of a moving gray shadow a long shot away, half 

 hidden by birch-trees, and fired, ran on again, fell into 

 a snowdrift apparently yards deep, struggled out, 

 scrambled through the birches, and there, a quarter 

 of a mile away, saw my bull going slowly over the 

 skyline. 



We found the trail and buckets of blood. Such 

 a blood-trail on white snow I have seldom, if ever, 

 seen. Ivor made certain of a kill, but we never saw 

 that bull again. Sufficient to say that we followed 

 the trail over the f jeld down to the steep valley, over 

 the stream, and for miles up and over the f jeld on the 

 other side, and on till dark, without result. I must 

 have shot him high on the point of the shoulder and 



