"There they are," returned Jack Mason; "sure enough."
Donald began to show some excitement.
"Shouldn't we go up there and try to kill them?" he asked eagerly.
"I think not," answered Jack. "We can get what we need going home. I think it will be better fun for us to ride on a little, and then climb up on some high peak and sit there and look over the country."
"All right," said Donald, resignedly; "go ahead; but I'd like to remind you of the story about the girl who was sent into the woods to get a straight stick, and kept rejecting pretty good sticks, hoping to get one still straighter, until finally, when she got to the outside she had to take one that was crooked."
"Ha! ha!" laughed Mason. "That's the way I've seen it done often with hunters. But let's follow Jack, Donald. He's the boss, and if we don't get any meat, we'll put the blame on him, and make lots of fun of him when we get back to the ranch."
"Let it be so," acquiesced Donald.
Jack Danvers grinned.
"I'll accept it," he said.
For three quarters of an hour they rode on, constantly ascending by a gentle slope. Two or three times they saw other elk near or far off, and more than once Jack was warned by Donald of the humiliation of being laughed at when they got back to the ranch. But Jack only laughed and intimated that Donald was a British pilgrim.