ELK-HUNTING IN THE OLYMPIC MOUNTAINS. 59 



sinks down in her tracks before you hear the report, shot 

 through the heart and her shoulder shattered. 



Now out with your knife; seize her by the ear and slash 

 her across the throat. Pick up your gun. Now do the 

 same for the old bull. Not much blood in him, eh? Well, 

 he pumped lots of it out in making those few jumps. Pick 

 up your gun. Now for the spike-bull. Hark! A crashing 

 in the bushes, and a bull as large as the monarch comes 

 striding along, with his nose pointing straight out and his 

 horns flat along his sides. Bang! bang! He stops, wavers, 

 reels, then falls, shuddering, to the ground. Confess the 

 truth. You were startled. You are not sorry you brought 

 your gun with you, instead of leaving it where you cut the 

 cow's throat, are you? Fill up your magazine, and then 

 cut the throats of these two. When you reach the last 

 bull, what do you see? Blood gushing out of four wounds, 

 and all of them fatal. Now cut the throat of that spike- 

 bull, and sit down on him. 



What is that crashing you hear among the bushes in 

 various directions? Only Elk hunting for their leader. You 

 rise and seize your gun. Sit down. You are a gentleman; 

 not a prowling market-hunter; nor yet a filthy reprobate 

 of a skin -hunter. Haven't you heads and antlers to adorn 

 your home richly, and beef enough to last two families a 

 whole year? Sit down. What more do you want? If you 

 are a cuss as writes, you will send a description of this 

 scene to some sportsman's paper. You will tell how guilty 

 you felt, how you blushed, when those bright, appealing 

 eyes were turned on you, when their owner felt the cruel 

 knife. (They were all dead when you reached them.) Then 

 you will wander off, and gush about rose-tinted forests, and 

 the winds sighing requiems through the pines. All these 

 brilliant and" intricate lies you will tell, just because it is the 

 custom to tell them. Try and be manly about it. You did 

 kill those beautiful creatures. You are glad you did so. 

 It was a difficult thing to do. It was intellect against 

 instinct. It was reason against cunning. You have won 

 your laurels; and as the eyes of the monarch gaze down 



