THE HIGHLANDS OF THE SWEDISH DIVIDE. 257 
and stumbling, walked right away from them, dis¬ 
appearing over a fold in the fjeld. The trail led on to 
the brink of a mountain-torrent, swollen by rains, and 
beyond this no sign could that night be seen. 
Next morning we turned out our full force, men and 
dogs, and for three days hunted that fjeld high and 
low, scouring both banks of the river (so far as they 
were accessible), and every spot likely or unlikely to 
harbour the missing game. But not a trace could be 
found. No spoor ever left the torrent-side, and death, 
beyond a doubt, had overtaken the elk while seeking 
safety therein, his body being swept down those yawn¬ 
ing chasms where the stream, in clouds of spray, hurled 
itself down the gorge. We accepted our hunters’ 
assurance that the trophy itself would certainly be 
recovered when the snow should have revealed, by the 
tracks of wolves and beasts of prey, the position of the 
carcass. 
A curious incident occurred on one of these days. 
Both dogs were straining on their leashes, when we 
observed, far off on the fjeld, an unusual assemblage of 
birds of prey. There were croaking ravens, and at one 
time we counted eleven buzzards soaring around with 
shrill cries or alighting on the rocks. “ Ulve!” (Wolves!) 
whispered Bengt, and we spread out silently in line, 
advancing on a hot scent and in high hopes of encounter¬ 
ing both our lost elk and the carousing wolves at one 
and the same time. Already, in mental anticipation, 
we were “ knocking them stiff” as the brutes crossed 
an open glade below. But the covert drew blank. 
Undoubtedly some beast moved off on our right, but 
nothing was seen, and the cause of the buzzards’ 
