THE ELK AND THE SETTER. 



29 



"'What's up, Uncle Zac?' said I, as I 

 took a seat beside him. 



" ' Well,' said he, ' my shoats have been 

 getting into my oatfields, and we could not 

 make out where the hole was until yesterday, 

 when I found that old hollow log with an 

 elbow crook in it; the boys were too lazy to 

 cut it out of the way, so built the fence over 

 it and the shoats got into the field through 

 the hollow log. Last evening I thought I 

 would have some fun. I called the boys and 

 moved the log, so that both ends are on 

 the outside of the field. I came down here 

 just now to see the fun. Hush, here they 



come again.' Along the fence came the 

 shoats, with snouts to the ground and tails 

 curled, at a fast trot ; when they reached the 

 end of the log, where they had been accus- 

 tomed to enter the field, they stopped for a 

 moment, then entered one after the other; 

 out they came at the other end of the log, 

 looked bewildered and puzzled and started 

 back, squealing, to repeat the act over and 

 over again. 



" We watched the fun until our sides 

 ached from laughing and then went back to 

 the ranch to liquor up." 



THE ELK AND THE SETTER. 



BOONE. 



The April sun had melted the snow from 

 the Southern side of a ridge in the Blue 

 mountains of Oregon, but on the Northern 

 side and in the gorge it still lay 2 to 4 feet 

 deep. Deer had not yet come up from 

 their wintering on the plains, and elk had 

 already left this winter retreat for the higher 

 mountains. I hardly expected to find game, 

 but we needed meat at the cabin, and I 

 hoped I might stumble on game of some 

 kind. Along the ridge were indications that 

 elk had wintered there, but in the thawing 

 snow the sign might be a day old or a 

 month, for all I could tell. I came to a 

 stretch of shale 100 yards across, perfectly 

 level and free from plant growth. There my 

 Irish setter, Dash, drew past me, raised his 

 nose in the air, and went slowly and firmly 

 forward. He had never deceived me and, 

 though I could see nothing, I knew he 

 would not now. I was hunting by his nose, 

 not by my eyes. Here is where a setter 

 makes us even with elk or deer; we have 

 eye and ear equal to theirs, but they have 

 also a nose — worth both the others. The 

 setter has as good a nose as they, and with 

 his help we are even. Trust it fully, fellow 

 hunter; it will never fail you. You need 

 not thread thickets nor wade marshes; give 

 the setter the wind and go around them, he 

 will do the rest. So, like a good Christian, 

 I walked on by faith, and not by sight. This 

 time my faith was well placed. The dog 

 drew on; not nosing the ground but with 

 head erect — for he is of noble blood. Every 

 step was measured and firm, with no 

 thought even of me; for him the universe 

 lay in that tainted air. The shale crossed, 

 the thickly wooded brink of a vast canyon 

 followed, and there the dog stopped, mo- 

 tionless as a stone. An unversed man might 

 have said, " Sage hen, blue grouse, perhaps." 

 But this man was versed, and he said to him- 

 self, " Deer, certain; a forerunner from the 

 plains below." Did Dash see it? Of course 



not, no more than he sees grouse in the 

 grass or quail in the thicket. Seeing was 

 not his forte: scenting was. I stepped 

 cautiously forward, and looked over the 

 brush covered slope of the canyon. Down 

 at the left, 100 yards, I saw, just past a 

 clump of mahogany, a great, round, yellow 

 ham. I need not tell any mountain man that 

 there is only one yellow thing in the moun- 

 tains, the sides and ham of an elk. He was 

 lying down, and no other part of him could 

 be seen. What was to be done? To fire 

 into that ham was to spoil 50 pounds of the 

 best meat in Oregon; and I was after meat! 

 Even then he might get away. My only 

 chance was to shoot low on the hip and 

 break the leg. I had a .45-100-405, Sharp's 

 shell in my rifle and I knew what it could 

 do. I fired, and the great creature sprang 

 upon 3 legs, the other dangling with a shat- 

 tered bone. I heard him clattering up a 

 small hill while I worked in another car- 

 tridge. Looking up I saw, on top of the hill 

 50 yards away, my elk, with another of equal 

 size beside him. I gave the newcomer a 

 shot through the shoulder. He wheeled 

 past me, I fired at his other shoulder, and 

 down he went. A shot through the neck 

 dropped the other elk 20 feet from him. I 

 had secured 2 of the noblest animals in the 

 mountains, and at least 600 pounds of meat. 



Dash all this while stood firm and un- 

 moved as when he first made his point. 

 That was his work until told to fetch. Not 

 to disappoint him, I gave the word. When 

 I got down the hill, he had chewed the hair 

 from the back of the first elk trying to get a 

 hold and fetch it to me. He was bent on 

 doing his duty, regardless of the size of our 

 game. 



Dash was sent me by Hon. W. Y. Ripley, 

 of Rutland, Vt. I have often wished that 

 gentleman could have stood by me on the 

 prairie or in the mountains to watch the 

 work of his beautiful gift. 



