FOREST AND STREAM. 
[June io, 1905. 
On the Top of the Wapiti* 
There are few sports more thoroughly enjoyable and 
beneficial than hunting the wild creatures of the forest. 
It furnishes, as does none other, continued exercise and 
hard work blent with pleasure in the purity of wild 
mountain air; it begets health and Vigor; it draws one 
close to nature, by far the most beautiful and wonderful 
study we have; it leads to camping and living as a man 
should live; it furnishes exquisite excitement; it nur- 
tures perseverance, keen observation, self-reliance and 
good fellowship ; it means to the body what study does 
to the mind. "A huntsman should possess the following 
qualifications," says the Encyclopaedia Britannica, 
"health, memory, decision, temper, patience, a good ear, 
voice, and sight, courage and spirits, perseverance and 
activity." It is one of the oldest of sports, indulged in 
centuries ago by the old Greeks and Romans, the ancient 
Egyptians, the Assyrians, the Babylonians, and even by 
some nations in the older Bible times. Its age proves its 
honest value as nothing else can; it has been weighed 
in the balance for hundreds of years, and not yet has 
it been found wanting. 
And so, believing in all its many-sided advantages and 
subtle charms myself, I did not refuse the opportunity 
last fall of following the trail of the wapiti, or "elk" 
as they are usually called in America, and accordingly 
started out with two other friends in early September 
from Big Timber, Montana, bound for elk and any other 
big game we might chance to see. Behold us then one 
fine morning "hitting the trail" along the Boulder Creek 
over the stage road from Big Timber to Contact — our 
outfit consisting of our three riding horses and three 
pack-horses, which carried a tepee tent, our "war-bags," 
our blankets and grub for three weeks. We also picked 
up at Contact a fourth man for cook and horse rustler. 
We took our way leisurely enough the first day, camp- 
ing over night at one of the numerous ranches which lay 
scattered through the Boulder Valley, and on the next 
day made Contact, distant from Big Timber about thirty- 
five miles. 
Contact is situated far up in the mountains, wedged in 
between gaunt stupendous peaks of rock and forest. The 
town is principally a miners' camp, patronized by pros- 
pectors spending their lonely lives in the wild seclusion 
of the mountains seeking elusive fortunes, prospecting 
for float and leads of gold. Contact is composed of one 
log cabin, a deserted log saloon, a log stable, and a log 
corral. That is all, absolutely. The most interesting 
part of the town is its chief inhabitant, Joe Keeney, one 
of those old-timers who can tell many a good story of 
the departed frontier days. All evening he entertained 
us in story-telling and in fiddling the old-time cowboy 
tunes. I shall never forget how perfectly he played the 
merry old "Arkansas Traveler." 
Thirty miles above Contact lie the old Independence 
gold mines. The way hither penetrates far up into the 
Boulder Canyon over a rough wood "road, hewn through 
fragrant forests of pine, originally built to connect Inde- 
pendence with the outside world. The old Independence 
mine, nestling in the inmost depths of a mighty caiiyon, 
cradled between dark cloud-wreathed mountains and 
rocky desolate cliffs, lies deserted and forlorn. All that 
is left is a collection of empty, silent cabins, once the 
miners' quarters — little one-room hovels of roughly hewn 
logs, bare of all comforts except old rat-riddled beds of 
boards and straw. One or two once possessed the dis- 
tinction of grimy board floors, but these have rotted 
away, and the roofs long since have fallen- iff, "life and 
thought have gone away," leaving naught but these 
empty walls to show where strong men once spent their 
lives — where long ago they lived and fought and toiled 
and died. . ' ' 
From . Independence we zig-zagged up the mountain- 
side till at last we stood high up on the top of the divide 
between the Boulder and Slough creeks, mid-yvay, it 
seemed, between sky and earth. For far down below 
us was spread a mighty scene ; lofty peaks and towers, 
gulches and bottomless ravines, buttes and pinriacies, 
and snow-strewn mountain ranges, pagodas,- temples, 
savage canyons, vast amphitheaters, a thbusand -.different 
fantastic shapes and jagged forms, all smolildiipng; in 
the far distance in hues and intermingled tints di red 
and blue and purple; and all around was the endless sky, 
with here and there a desolate bare peak of rock and 
cliff and snow, wind-swept, gloomy, chill. 
Descending to the head of Slough Creek we followed 
its course southward for nine or ten miles _ till , ,J^e 
reached Lost Creek, one of its small tributaries. All 
afternoon we spent pushing our way up Lost Creek, 
through thick, heavy timber. There was no trail — ripth- 
ing but a tangle of gnarled pine trees and branches, 
fallen timber, and steep declivities, apparently inaccessible 
for horses. But in some miraculous manner we; man- 
aged to squeeze the pack-horses through the thick, heavy 
growth of standing trees and pull them over the riet- 
work of fallen ones without the packs getting torn to 
pieces, and by nightfall we found ourselves hemmed in 
by dense forest near the head of Lost Creek under a 
scowling dizzy cliff. The only feed we could find for 
our horses that night lay in a small park on a side hill 
steep enough to make a horse swear, so there we had to 
camp.. 
Now, camping on a side hill may or may not be a joke. 
It depends on the point of view. But to me on that 
evening it seemed frightful how the dishes and kettles 
would take to rolling down hill, merrily emptying out 
one's supper on the way. The coffee-pot could not be 
induced to stand up on the coals, but wobbled and tilted 
with, provoking joviality; every now and then a log 
would suddenly give way with a downward motion, and 
lower the frying pan full of sputtering grease into the 
fire ; everything took to rollicking down hill. That night 
I was a remarkable one. Every now and then I would 
f- wake up to find myself rolling downward out of my 
blankets, and with a sleepy pull I would draw the blank- 
ets after me. I suppose I would have finally landed in 
the creek at the bottom had not a tree held me firm until 
morning. 
The next two days I spent hunting all through that 
vicinity, but elk did not seem to be running there. The 
first day I just caught sight of the rear end of one as he 
was silently vanishing into the trees ; and on the second 
day all I saw was one large wolf running over the slide- 
rock, which I failed to get. The timber and dead trees 
were so thick that it was almost impossible to get up to 
any elk without being heard by their wonderful ears. 
The chances of elk finding in such a country without 
snow seemed very small, so the next day we moved camp 
across a high divide down into Paradise Basin at the 
head of the creek bearing that name. An icy mountain 
stream bordered on either side by open grassy parks, 
hemmed in on all sides but one by steep timbered moun- 
tain sides culminating in rocky mighty cliffs mingling 
with the birds and the sky — this is Paradise Basin. Here 
we camped for seven or eight days beside the cold 
crystal creek, picketing our horses in the parks where 
they throve on the long j^ellow prairie grass. 
I took a short hunt that afternoon and found the 
country different from that of Lost Creek Basin. The 
timber was: larger and more open, and there was much 
less down . timber affording the hunter more chance to 
make his way noiselessly through the trees. There was 
also an abundance of soft green growth carpeting the 
forest, on whose tender leaflets and tiny red berries, 
honey-sweet,., elk love to feed. Altogether it was a prom- 
ising looking country, and so, although I saw nothing 
that afternoon, I set out next morning with a light heart 
and a hope that I would see some elk before the day 
was over. As I climbed the mountain side that morn- 
ing, toward a small basin high up under the cliffs, I 
came across numerous elk tracks, but none seemed very 
fresh. I kept climbing upward, however, and soon stood 
on the brink of the basin in which my hopes for that 
day were cast. As* I gazed down at the tops of the trees 
below me, I wondered what the god of chance had hid- 
den away for me beneath those thick shielding branches; 
I wondered if there really were any elk down there, and 
whether the country was as destitute of life as the vast 
unbroken silence seemed to proclaim. And then arose a 
strange answer to my thoughts. For on a sudden, out of 
the dead silence brooding over the woods, broke forth 
a sound that thrilled through the listening forest — the 
whistle of an elk. Those that have never heard it cannot 
conceive of its music, the great ringing whistle cutting 
clear and wild and joyous through the forest stillness, 
rising and then fallinsr till it seems almost like some 
weird wail, immediately followed by the deep musical 
fantastic grunt. It seemed almost like some lost spirit 
wailing out of the tangled depths of the woods from 
only the wind knew where. I could not move. I could 
only throw my whole soul into listening, greedily de- 
vouring every slightest sound. It was a beautiful and 
wonderful forest call indeed, fraught with the wildness 
and the spirit of the woods. It thrilled and quivered 
through me ; it rung in my ears ; it seemed to tingle in 
my blood; and my mind painted the old bull as he stood 
there hurling forth his call, his shaggy body poised on 
three graceful dainty legs, his noble antlered head 
thrown up toward heaven, his nostrils wide distended, 
his alert ears ready to catch the slightest sound, his 
great kingly antlers sparkling in the sun. 
Statue-still I stood, spell-bound as it were, and list- 
ened with straining ears. My heart fluttered with a strain 
of joy in it, for this was the first whistle I had heard this 
season. The elk cry is uttered only by the bulls in the 
running, season," which occurs with the waxing and the 
waning of the moon in September. Soon, however, ■ a 
squirrel snapped a twig. The spell was broken and I 
resumed my course over the interwoven mass of fallen 
timber. Carefully picking a way over the dead crackling 
sticks, almost noiselessly, I followed up the sound. I 
soon came to a spring around which the mud and 
swampy moss had been just recently all tracked up by 
elk; the water was still muddy where some had riled it 
up while drinking. Here I sat down and waited for 
several minutes to see if any more elk would come down 
for a drink. But nothing could I hear or see except the 
little pine squirrels and chipmonks; busily chattering 
away and nimbly pattering around tlip branches. 
Suddenly that wild heart-searching-'elk cry broke forth 
again, clear and ringing. This was; Too much; I could 
sit still no longer. I jumped up./aiid silently stole up 
through the basin in the direction ^o-i 'the sound. Every- 
where appeared fresh elk sign. Oijen parks were scat- 
tered here and there through .the . timber, and it was on 
the edge of one of these ^that my roving eye suddenly, 
caught a splotch of reddish brown about a hundred 
■yards away, so well blent with its background of trees 
and rocks as to be almost indistinguishable. A second 
later a shy head was turned wonderingly toward me; my 
rifle went mechanically up to my shoulder and I fired. I 
think I hit the animal, but away he went bounding 
lightly up a hill, fleet as the wind, with me painfully and 
awkwardly lumbering up behind. When I reached the 
top ■ of the hill I caught a vanishing glimpse of him 
through the timber, and although I tried to follow his 
trail, that was the last I ever saw of him. So I had lost 
my first elk. 
The next day — Saturday — I hunted all day long 
through the forest but nothing could I see of elk except 
their tracks, which lay all through the country. 
On Sunday morning I took a much appreciated rest 
in camp and spent the afternoon in a ride down the creek 
to view some beaver homes, which proved to be very 
interesting. It is wonderful what these little people of 
the forest streams accomplish in their midnight work. 
Whole trees were chopped down along the water's edge ; 
three and four-foot dams were solidly built across the 
creek at various places; the flow of the water was kept 
evenly regulated by numerous dams and waterways; and 
in the midst of their handicraft was situated their home 
—a large mound built on the water's edge, of willow 
withes and mud neatly and solidly plastered together, 
with the single doorway under water opening up to air- 
chambers and passages above. 
On the following day — ^one long after to be remem- 
bered — after a hasty meal of fried bacon, "sinkers" and 
"heifer's delight," I started out from camp as usual, and 
sneaked for several miles through the woods along the 
side of the mountain under the rim rock. It was hard, 
tiresome work, climbing up apparently perpendicular 
hills, clambering over fallen trees as noiselessly as pos- 
sible, crawling over slide-rock,' crossing locky gulches, 
making one's way through dry rustling leaves and dead 
crackling sticks with the stealth of an Indian— always 
straining to see the elk that were never there. The vast- 
ness of the desolate peaks and forests seemed eternal; 
loneliness cried out to God. And still I walked along; 
on and ever onward. Not a sound broke the stillness 
of those mighty woods, save for the stirring of the wee 
forest folk — the fluttering of little wings now and then, 
or the angry excited chitter-chatter of the squirrels, or 
once in a while a sudden mighty whirr as a grouse 
winged his way to safety. And the wind, rising and fall- 
ing, now slipping through the tree tops soft and purring, 
now rushing, roaring headlong through the branches, 
blended strangely with the utter silence. And so all 
morning long I walked through the pines, ever gazing 
into empty vistas; hoping at every turn, yet always the 
same empty disappointments — no elk to be seen. 
About 2 o'clock, weary and worn out with vain tramp- 
ing, I sat down to rest in a small open park which I had 
happened upon. For half an hour or more I idly sat 
there, watching the merry squirrels at their play — gaily 
chasing one another around the tall trees, scuttling over 
fallen logs, up tree-trunks and through the branches, 
giving up their whole quivering little beings to their 
sport, forgetting every care and restraint. Happy little 
creatures these — but hark! a far off whistle— indistinct 
yet unmistakable, pierces the stillness, hangs quivering a 
moment, then dies away into silence. Intently did 1 
listen, spell-bound, motionless, for several long minutes 
of intense silence. My very soul seemed pierced by that 
ringing note of defiance and fierce wild beauty. Then 
once again, clear and lovely, it came ringing through the 
forest. I jumped up electrified, and started swiftly forth 
in the direction of the sound. Yet the whistle had 
sounded too far away for me to be positive of its direc- 
tion; and so, after some time spent in an uncertain hunt. 
I stopped, hesitating which way to proceed. I was stand- 
ing in an open coulee strewn with mangled fallen trees, 
down which some months before a landslide had thun- 
dered its terrific destruction, leaving an open track of 
desolation as sharply marked as though God's own hand 
had swept down the mountainside a pathway of awful 
wrath. I started up from the coulee, entered the woods 
on the other side, walked a short distance, and then 
stopped, I know not why, hesitated, and finally retraced 
my steps to the coulee. Oh! what good angel led me 
back? For as I stood there wondering which way to go 
next, suddenly once again that piercing, whistle was 
lifted up and hurled forth throbbing through the woods 
—this time close at hand, clear as a bugle note, defiant, 
ringing. Oh,, the thrill of that wild sound! How it 
makes the blood leap in the veins, and the heart madly 
beat, and the sinews draw tense and twitch. Up I sprang 
quivering in every nerve, anxiously I gazed up tlie gulch 
frorn which the call had seemed to issue. Nothing was 
in sight, but far up the coulee, near the top of the peak, 
I could see a steep open park, opening on the left where 
I thought the elk must be. Excitedly I ran andl walked 
and crept up the gulch, every nerve tense, trembling, 
hoping, wondering. Up, up toward the direction of the 
whistle I hurried, my eyes and ears strained toward the 
open park ahead. Infinite was the care bestowed on 
every step, lest, some false one betray me to the ever- 
watchful, ever-listening quarry; and yet withal, sore 
was my haste, lest, the elk move off or detect my presence 
before I get within, rifle-shot. So at last;- moving like 
a shadow, I reached a point near the top of the draw. 
And then suddenly, about two hundred and fifty yards 
away, I beheld a sight that thrilled me— a great pair of 
branching ivory-tipped antlers, and a huge dark back 
slowly moving around, just visible over some low. 
bushes at the bottom of the gulch. With pounding heart - 
I carefully and without a sound crept up-wind along the 
side of the gulch behind some low fringing bushes, till 
I was within fifty yards of the spot where I had seen my 
prize. I cautiously raised myself up and took a hasty 
glance around. Was there ever such dismay ? Nothing 
was in sight but the steep sides of the gulch, and the 
sky and cliffs above. Where, where, could he be? But 
suddenly, just ahead through an opening in the bushes, 
he stalked— huge and majestic— a lordly picture of grace 
and strength and forest beauty, crowned with those, 
mighty antlers, so perfect, so wonderful, so faultless, em-', 
bodying and strangely blending the rugged strength of. 
the cliffs and mountain-peaks with the tenderness and 
beauty of God's forest. For a moment he stood there 
and gazed at me with his great brown eyes; so pure, so 
innocent he seemed. 
Ah, what a longed-for moment! My heart gave a 
wild fierce cry of exultation; my raging blood bade me 
shoot. My rifle went up to my shoulder; a moment^s"!^ 
pause, and it spit out the sharp crack of death; and't$^!^ 
great animal came piteously lunging toward me.; A see^."^ 
ond shot rang out, and he stopped, tottering,, ;magnifi+T 
cently pitiful. And when next the heartless rifle sgoke^T 
its insistent summons, he limply fell, and then roUed'^ 
