MOOSE-HUNTINO IN THE EOCKY MOUNTAINS. 43 



fair view, I heard not a sound nor saw the least flurry of 

 snow. I felt rejoiced, however, over the prospect of success 

 in a run of a few miles, and bent to the chase with a will. 



The deep, wide road they made led across the undulating 

 pine park, and I followed at one side, straining my eyes to 

 select the best track and to locate the game; but in a run of 

 two miles, at fair speed, only the same new-made road and 

 the same evidence of desperate flight rewarded me. 



At the edge of the great pine forest, the course led, at a 

 gradual descent, toward the river. My speed was acceler- 

 ated to the limit of safety, but the two Moose had also the 

 benefit of the down-hill course, so that it was not an easy 

 task to run them down ; but I soon saw them pass over a 

 ridge, and knew they were failing. As they were going by 

 that time in the direction of the camp, I felt the thrill of 

 exultation that comes with the certainty of victory. 



One rush down the smooth slope would bring me within 

 range. My rifle was unslung and carried in my hand as I 

 shot through the keen wind. Steadily I held my course, 

 ' though it tried my nerve to guide my surging shoes, now 

 around a curve, then past a projecting crag. I was within 

 a hundred yards of the struggling quarry. They were 

 steaming and puffing like overworked engines. They 

 snorted blood from their noses, and stained the snow 

 on either side of the trail they left, but their speed was 

 unchecked. 



My pole was dragging behind; I was steadying myself 

 to fire, when the game turned to the left, around some over- 

 hanging rocks. The mountain was steep , above, and the 

 river was at a dizzy depth below. I was all eagerness to 

 make a good shot, when, from neglecting to watch my 

 course, I rushed upon an obstruction of rocks, and fell. 



I was injured, but was on my shoes in a few seconds. 

 Another run brought me up to the game, and only thirty 

 feet above them. I fired at the great bull. He staggered, 

 and kept on; but a ghastly line of blood on the trail told of 

 the deadly effect of the shot. The second shot was aimed 

 at the shoulder of the smaller Moose. He fell at the crack 



