At first I thought I heard the hoof beats on the ground, but presently recognized that it was the action of my heart, which was beating so forcibly that I could distinctly hear it. The high elevation and the vigorous exercise often produce that effect upon one who is not used to the climate. Other sportsmen have had a similar experience. After pursuing my course some distance along the side of a steep hill my attention was suddenly arrested by the sound of breaking branches in the spruce nearby. I had not long to wait before a spike-horned elk stepped out in front of me not more than twenty-five or thirty yards off. The large brown eyes were looking straight at me with a mildness and apparent absence of fear, which removed all thought of slaughter from my mind, although at that time I had never killed an elk.
The poor quality of the head as a trophy determined my action. After gazing a few seconds I turned my steps in the direction I thought the herd had taken its course. A long, shrill whistle, ending in a squeal, blended with a bray like a donkey, soon informed me of the whereabouts of the bull I was seeking. Climbing over the crest of the hill I finally caught sight of the old bull in the valley with a bunch of cow elk collected around him, which had increased by this time to about twenty-five or thirty. The bull frequently threw his head up, giving vent to his peculiar call, which was answered now and then by several other bulls on the surrounding hills, none of which seemed willing to venture near him. I watched this spectacle for some time, endeavoring to get near enough to obtain a good shot.
Being alone and unaccustomed to the country I was unable to gauge the distance correctly. When finally I stopped at the nearest point I could reach to secure a fair shot (I was using on that occasion a .45-90 Winchester, not one of the modern high-power guns with a flat trajectory), I fired at the bull without effect and saw the whole bunch of cow elk come together in a solid mass and ascend the slope of the neighboring mountain. The cow elk acted as though panic-stricken, all striving to get as near the center of the bunch as possible while ascending the slope and interfering considerably with the movements of one another in so doing. The bull remained behind until the cows had gained a considerable start, and then followed them up the mountain. When I examined the distance from the spot where I stood when I fired at the bull to the point where he was located, I found it over 400 yards. Being unaccustomed to gauging distance at that time, I underestimated the range. The atmosphere is so clear that objects obtain a much clearer definition and seem at times nearer than they really are. A mistake in underestimating distance made a greater difference with the old .45-90 than it would with modern high power rifles. I returned to camp burning with a desire to secure a good trophy.
The next day I went out with Jake. We separated, agreeing to meet at a certain place, which, through some misunderstanding, we failed to accomplish. I soon ran upon the tracks of a big bull elk, which led directly up the steep side of a mountain. This I climbed for about six hundred feet with some trouble, when I noticed that the tracks had begun to turn and tended downward. I continued to follow them until they brought me again to the foot of the mountain, within about thirty feet of the point where I first started to trace them up. I finally ran across my guide again, and it was not long before his keen eyes picked out an elk at a distance of about two hundred and fifty yards, just visible among some spruce trees. It was a cow elk, and I was indisposed to shoot it, but being reminded of the condition of the larder I concluded to try my luck. The crack of the rifle was followed by the disappearance of the animal in the timber, and I thought I had missed, but was reassured to the contrary, and when I reached the spot where the elk had stood I saw a few traces of blood, which shortly led to a brown form lying among the green spruce trees—the elk was stone dead. Standing over Jake, who was engaged in dressing the elk, I asked him if he thought I ought to smash the rifle over a rock. Looking up from his dirty work, besmeared with perspiration and gore, he replied with a grin, “Not when she throws lead like that.”
My time was drawing to a close, and although I had abundant opportunities to kill animals with inferior heads, that kind of sport did not satisfy me, and I left them to die a natural death, unless some tooth hunter has cut their existence short.
The final day passed without result, and I had to leave for a later period a more successful hunt for trophies.
The last night around the camp-fire Jake made entertaining by relating to me some of his personal experiences. The following story was told me as absolutely true: The guide had struck the trail of a mountain lion, which he followed with his pack of dogs to a tree where the trail ended. Naturally he expected to find the lion in the tree. Much to his surprise there was no lion in the tree, and no tracks of a lion leading away from the tree. The only tracks discernible were the tracks of an elk. Finally a bloodhound in the pack started off on the elk tracks. This seemed very strange, because the dogs had been thoroughly broken from following anything except lions and bobcats. The guide tried to call the dog back, but he continued to follow the elk tracks, and the rest of the pack joined in the pursuit. Following the tracks about a quarter of a mile, there appeared in the snow signs of a struggle, and then an impression upon the ground of a large animal which the elk had evidently unseated. The lion’s tracks were distinctly visible from this point for a considerable distance, until he took refuge in a pinyon tree.
It was plain that the mountain lion had jumped upon the back of a passing elk and had stolen a free ride, which he enjoyed until his saddle horse dismounted him. “That shows what a wonderfully intelligent animal a dog is,” said Jake; “just to think that they should have reasoned it out that the lion had ridden off on the elk, when I was puzzled myself to find out what had become of him.”
PACK HORSES ROUNDED UP FOR THE RETURN.