214 A SPRING AND SUMMER IN LAPLAND. 



for if I did luckily bring her down with the first 

 ball the calf was mine, and anyhow I had then a 

 spare ball left. Had I been an old elk-hunter, I 

 should have waited till they came right up to the 

 muzzle of my gun, for it was plain now that they 

 neither saw nor smelt me, but evidently meant 

 crossing the rise close to me ; and I made another 

 mistake, excusable in a green hand, for, instead 

 of sending a bullet right into the chest, which 

 might have brought her down at once, I aimed at 

 her forehead. We all know that the curl in the 

 forehead is a vital part in a bullock's head. An 

 elk, however, carries its head not like an ox, but 

 in a horizontal position, the nose nearly in a line 

 with the withers, thus presenting little or no front 

 to aim at. She was exactly twenty-five yards 

 from me when I pulled the trigger — for I measured 

 it afterwards — and my bullet instead of crashing 

 into her forehead, struck just "a leetle bit" too 

 high, and glanced off. It, however, brought her 

 up pretty quick; she looked about for a few 

 seconds, wondering what the deuce was up (but 

 she did not see me), and turning leisurely round, 

 headed up the swamp. I had now a fair broad- 

 side, and sent my second bullet right through her 

 shoulder. She fell on her knees, but instantly 

 recovering herself, started up, and for a few 

 seconds stood still, fiercely looking round her. All at 



