ELK-HUNTING IN INDEROEN. 219 
sitting by a fire of pine-cones, and commenced the long 
tramp homewards in the dark. 
We felt that we were now in touch with one at least 
of those two big bulls of Troll-botn, of which our Norsk 
friends—always optimistic as regards our shikar skill— 
had so confidently foretold the downfall. 
The wind, though still exasperatingly light, having 
shifted during the night from N. to N.E., forced us to 
take higher ground, above timber-line and beyond the 
presumed route of the elks. Hence we had five hours’ 
walking before recovering the big spoor. We followed 
it for some hours ; but towards midday were close up to 
the game, which kept turning, twisting, and doubling, 
but ever moving on through thick forest or birch-wood, 
now uphill, now down vertical faces regardless of limits 
to limb-power. But he never stopped or seemed to 
remember the midday siesta. The climax occurred 
early in the afternoon, when, for a couple of miles, 
“ Ben gel ” strained furiously on the leader, and we 
raced forward across rough ground. There was a deep 
and broad ravine, its flanks strewn with rocks, amidst 
sere grass and scattered pines. Here every yard we 
advanced seemed to offer fresh promise, and eyes 
strained ahead intent on catching the first view. We 
crossed the open at a run, and had already regained 
the thicker forest, when Ole dropped to his knee and 
held up a hand. I was alongside with rifle cocked. 
Fifty yards above was a fallen pine, its uptorn roots 
outstanding in broken array—truly, in the half-light 
of the forest, those twisted spikes might well be mistaken 
for the coronet of an antlered elk. 
In a moment we realized the mistake and pushed 
