156 MY SPORTING HOLIDAYS 



was on Spotty, a young piebald 14.2 Indian pony 

 of fair speed and substance. I was riding Fox, a 

 black American-bred fifteen-hand horse of somewhat 

 better quality. The next moment, by a common 

 impulse, we were galloping after the three bulls as 

 hard as the nags could go. 



I have since had many a run on horseback after 

 elk, but this was one of the best of the kind I have 

 ever enjoyed, and it possessed all the charm of a first 

 experience. It so happened that the hills to the right 

 were very steep, and the point the bulls were making 

 for was a thickly-wooded ravine some three miles 

 ahead, that ran down from the range above. They 

 had about a quarter of a mile start of us, but we 

 steadily gained ground, my horse Fox in particular 

 having a very fair turn of speed, while both horses 

 were well used to running wild cattle. 



We had a glorious gallop over three miles of open 

 prairie, and presently a procession arrived in hot haste 

 at the ravine. First the three bulls, now pressed into 

 a gallop, plunged into the valley, antlers thrown back 

 and flanks heaving ; then, 100 yards behind them, 

 Fox, who had outdistanced Spotty, was pulled up on 

 the edge of the cover. I threw myself, rifle in hand, 

 headlong from the saddle, and sat down ready to 

 shoot at the first sight of the game we were after. 

 Bate, on Spotty, rode up an instant later. Below us 

 we heard the elk crashing through the trees, and 

 soon they came into sight ascending the far side. 

 The roar of two double rifles promptly conveyed to 

 the boys then pitching camp three miles away the 

 news that fresh venison for supper was more than 

 likely. We killed the largest bull, a good twelve- 

 pointer, missed another in the trees, and returned to 



