220 MY SPORTING HOLIDAYS 



we had heard the bull whistle, and the final stage of 

 the stalk began. I advanced slowly from tree to tree 

 with picked and noiseless step, my companion a yard 

 or two behind, my finger on trigger of rifle and my 

 thumb on cock, searching with anxious gaze every 

 opening through the forest in front. We were on 

 a wooded hill which descended rapidly beyond a ridge 

 in front. Soon we were near the ridge, without a sight 

 or sound of elk. 



My heart began to sink. ' I believe they're gone,' 

 I whispered to my companion ; but he shook his head. 

 Slowly we crept forward another yard and gained 

 another 20 feet of sight over the ridge. { Kill that 

 bull,' suddenly whispered Bob ; and there, some 

 60 yards in front of me, through an opening in the 

 trees, I saw the dark head and ruffed neck of a 

 bull elk looking straight at us. He had heard us, 

 and had that moment risen from his mid-day 

 couch. 



' That's not the big one, Bob,' I whispered, for I 

 could see a pair of horns, and they did not look large 

 enough. 



' Kill him, I tell yer,' growled Bob, ' and then 

 run in.' 



I took a fine sight below the chin and pressed the 

 trigger. The forest resounded with the roar of the 

 rifle, and the head vanished in a cloud of smoke. 

 I rushed forward, loading as I ran, past the body of 

 a fair- sized bull elk my shot had broken his neck 

 into a small glade, and ' There's yer bull !' whis- 

 pered Bob, as a gigantic yellow-brown body rose 

 quickly into view on the other side of the open glade, 

 80 yards away, and a splendid old elk of the largest 

 kind stood for a moment to gaze at the intruders. 



