452 

THE BUCK ANTELOPE KILLED BY THE AUTHOR ON 
THE LAST DAY IN CAMP 
We were here forcefully reminded that 
too much care cannot be taken in putting 
out campfires; for upon our return to camp 
one day we found that the fire had eaten 
along some pine needles and was then 
burning along the edge of our tent and in a 
short time would have destroyed our camp 
outfit—a fine predicament it would have 
left us in, all owing to a little carelessness. 
We reluctantly left this beautiful spot 
and moved up the valley about ten miles, 
toward the foothills of the Gros Ventres 
range. En route we came to a place on a 
small stream where a waterfall dashed over 
moss-covered boulders, forming a deep pool 
at the base, and as it looked most favorable 
for trout, I adjusted my rod, and soon I had 
fifteen good ones out of the wet. 
Toward evening, while looking for a 
RECREATION 
camping place and while scanning the 
opposite mountainside through my glasses, 
I saw our first live elk—a magnificent bull 
with fine antlers. Quickly tying our horses, 
we moved across the valley and quietly 
crept along the side of the ridge, on the other 
side of which we expected to find the quarry. 
But he had no doubt winded us, for he had 
slipped away. Selecting a camp site on a 
little bench on the side of the mountain, we 
found a small bunch of cedars with just 
opening enough for the tent to fit in and 
with a sparkling rivulet flowing only a few 
yards from the tent. Here we felt beauti- 
fully housed. 
On the morning of October 16 we started 
out on foot, and at noon we heard the 
whistle of a bull. By the aid of the glasses 
we located a herd of elk in a scattered grove 
of spruce—eight cows, one calf and a finely 
antlered bull. We were about a mile away, 
on the side of a bare mountain, in plain 
sight of the herd. I did not think we could 
get near them, but as they had not made 
out what we were, by careful work we 
moved away from them, and by circling 
around down wind and carefully crawling 
up the side of a hog-back, got within easy 
range. When I peeped over the top of the 
ridge I looked square into the face of a 
cow elk. The rest of the herd were behind 
the trees, some lying down. The cow at 
once made a dash across an open space for 
some heavy timber to the west, the rest of 
the herd following. As the bull came along 
I had no eyes for anything else and a suc- 
cessful second shot stopped him at 200 
yards. I had shot him through the lungs, a 
little too far back, and as he recovered him- 
self he went tearing through the timber for 
perhaps 300 yards before succumbing to his 
fate. I stopped at a safe distance, and as he 
saw me the bull made one final effort to 
rise, making a lunge toward me and 
imbedding the points of his antlers in the 
ground. Then I put him out of his misery. 
He was a fine six-pointer, the antlers being 
very massive and regular—the main beam 
50% inches and the lifters long and even. 
We spent several days in this camp 
caring for the meat, the skin and the head. 
And, although my license allowed me 
another, I felt so well satisfied that I did 
not hunt further forelk. I still had a buck 
