Ideal Summer Vacations 
ERMUD 
Only 2 Days from NewYork 
8-Day Tours-$90.00 and up 
9 Days- $96.00 and up 
Including «all Expenses 
Longer Tours in proportion 
All Outdoor Sports 
Sailing, Bathing, Golf, 
Tennis, Crystal Caves, 
Sea Gardens, etc. 
Bermuda is cool in 
Summer. Average 
Summer temperature, 77 deg. 


No Passports Required—Sailings Twice Weekly 
Via Palatial, Twin-Screw, Oil Burning, Transatlantic Liners 
= = “Fort Victoria” and 
- “Fort St. George” 
Canadian '20e 
TUS CS atveEesee™e 
2 Delightful Yachting Cruises 
Leave New York August 16-30 via Palatial 
Twin-Screw S. S.“Fort Hamilton” 
Stopping One Day (each way) at Halifax and Two 
Days at Quebec. Magnificent Scenery, Smooth 
Water, Cool Weather, Orchestra for Dancing. 
For Illustrated Booklets on Bermuda Tours 
or Canadian Cruises write 


FURNESS BERMUDA LINE 
34 Whitehall St, N. Y., or Any Locai Tourist Agent 


‘BURLINGTO 
NOTEL : 
VERMONT AVENUE AT THOMAS CIRCLE 
WASHINGTON, D.C. 
A QUIET REFINED HOTEL ~ 
FIVE MINUTES WALK TO EVERY THING 
ROOM WITH BATH~ $250 TO $499 
CLUB BREAKFAST 50S TO $192 
SPLENDID TABLE DHOTE DINNER $1590 
ET RED re 
ee 

The most unique camp in Amer- 
ica, in the best big game and fish 
Lake Rossignol 
water-shed of Nova Scotia. The 
home of Jo Kose the famous 
‘“‘Gide”’ 
MOORE’S CAMP 
country — the 
Caledonia, Queens County, 
Nova Scotia 
HASTINGS COUNTY, Ontario 
If you have never fished in Hastings you have never fished 
before. Fishing is sure great this season and if you wish 
to spend the finest vacation in your history amid scenic 
splendors unrivalled, and the finest, friendliest people, 
COME TO HASTINGS COUNTY, Ontario. Fine motor 
roads, a few hours ride from TORONTO or MONTREAL 
to BELLEVILLE. Good railway accommodation. Real 
hotels. Fishing and hunting paradise, mostly virgin terri- 
tory. WM. H. NUGENT, County Publicity Commissioner 
BELLEVILLE, ONTARIO, CANADA 
In writing to Advertisers mention Forest and Stream. 



Elk Hunting in the Rockies 
(Continued from page 530) 
“spots” through a belt of timber on the 
way, and blazing all four sides of a 
tree near the stream so that we’d have 
no trouble in finding the bull next 
morning on coming up with the pack 
horses. 
It was about one o’clock by now; so, 
after a good wash up, I ate my lunch 
and then started down stream for 
camp, getting there about three o’clock 
without seeing any more game. 
Hartley came in about an hour later. 
He had sighted what he thought to be 
the bull whose track we had followed 
that morning, a fine, big fellow, but 
any chance of a shot had been spoiled 
by some cows that had winded him and 
dashed off, at the same time frightening 
off the bull. Hartley had, however, 
bowled over a fat, barren cow and left 
her cleaned and ready to bring in with 
che pack animals. 
That evening the frying pan did 
yeoman’s service and flapjacks, elk 
liver and bacon, stewed prunes, and 
coffee seemed a feast indeed to two 
hungry hunters. 
Most of the next day was consumed 
in packing in the horns and meat of 
my bull and of the cow killed by Hart- 
ley. A large part of the meat, not 
needed by us in camp, was cut in long 
strips and smoked, both to preserve it 
better and also to render it lighter and 
easier to pack out when homeward 
bound. 
During the next week, in spite of 
the most persistent hunting by both of 
us, sometimes together and at other 
times going off in opposite directions, 
luck seemed to be against us, and we 
had nothing further to show for our 
combined efforts than a young three- 
year-old bull killed by Hartley, for 
meat, quite near camp, on his return 
from a long and unproductive day’s 
hunt. 
We had seen quite a few elk but each 
time something, generally unavoidable, 
had occurred to favor the game and to 
baffle our efforts. Either a fickle puff 
of the wind gave warning of our ap- 
proach or the game changed its course 
and vanished entirely before the chance 
of a successful shot presented itself. I 
had had a couple of shots at a bull 
dashing through the timber at about 
70 yards but only succeeded in boring 
holes in the forest. 
However, if there is any game in the 
country, ill luck can generally be con- 
quered by the persevering hunter, and 
if he’s the right sort he’ll hunt cheer- 
fully through and out of a series of 
blank days with the knowledge that he 
has gained much in valuable experience, 
either of the habits and favorite local 
haunts of the game, and in hunting 
It will identify you. 
lore generally, all of which can be 
stored up and called upon to crown some 
real red-letter day. On the morn- 
ing of our eighth day in camp I had 
hunted, as was my custom, well up 
towards the rim rock, and had thrown 
myself down for a ten minute breather 
on a ledge which, though shielding my 
own position, gave me a broad outlook 
of some game trails and of much of 
the surrounding country. Having for 
several moments been intently watch- 
ing what I thought might be some elk, 
a long way off on the opposite side of 
the valley, I had made no noise or 
movement, and my nerves being on the 
alert, the merest sound of a dropping 
pebble or displaced twig came to my 
ears, from slightly off to the right. 
Conscious that this sound must have 
been caused by the animal and trying 
to avoid attracting attention by any 
sudden movement, I glanced cautiously 
around. 
Not fifty yards away, the rim rock, 
dropping off in steps, joined the pine 
clade slope of the mountain, and on one 
of these lower rocky benches, wholly 
unconscious of my presence and look- 
ing intently into the thick woods just 
beneath him, was a full grown cougar 
or mountain lion. His lithe tawny body 
seemed to glisten against its somber 
background of grey rock and so motion- 
less he stood that but for his color he 
resembled one of Barye’s bronzes. 
As my rifle cracked, he sprang out 
and then crumpled in the air and fell 
with a cracking and smashing of limbs 
of the trees beneath. Hurrying down 
and through the pines, I soon came 
upon the lifeless form of the big cat 
lying on its face with claws buried in 
the soft pine-needled floor of the forest. 
He was in fair coat and measured con- 
siderably over six feet from tip to tip 
and his skin and snarling mask adorned 
the gun room floor for many a day 
thereafter. I have never made a 
special hunt after mountain lions, 
though good sport is undoubtedly had 
in parts of the Rockies and Coast 
ranges in their pursuit, which is usu- 
ally carried on with the aid of hounds 
and airedales, who, taking a lion’s trail, 
generally bring him to bay in some low 
tree from which he is shot by the hunter 
who has followed on some sure-footed 
mountain pony. 
Our last week in camp opened with a 
snowstorm which, however, let up after 
covering everything to a depth of about 
three inches. As the clouds broke 
away, the weather moderated again and 
one couldn’t travel far without getting 
thoroughly wet through, and in moving 
through the forest one was being con- 
stantly deluged with little avalanches 
of melting snow which was precipitated 
from the overhanging evergreen 
boughs. 
Page 570 
