By mid-summer the antlers stopped growing. Then the big brothers in the band pounded and rubbed their antlers against bushes and young trees, so as to strip off the velvety covering. When they had sham fights they could butt hard enough to hurt. They bumped their heads together, and pushed with all their might to see which was the strongest.
Autumn was not far off now, and the band of mother elk and young ones began to move down from the mountains to the foot-hills. In winter the snow lay so deep in the high valleys that they could not walk far or find enough to eat. Farther and farther down they wandered every day. The babies were learning to eat grass like the older ones.
One morning the smallest baby elk was picking his steps along the edge of a cliff. He halted and raised his pretty head to look far up the canyon before him. There, away off against the pine-woods on the mountain-side, he caught sight of a spot of brown moving toward him. Nearer and nearer it came, till he saw that it was an animal even bigger than his mother. It was an old father elk coming down from his summer retreat in the highest gorges.
In all his short life the baby had never seen such a stately and beautiful creature. His mother was not nearly so large as this elk, and she wore no antlers at all. The big brother’s antlers were only short spikes without any prongs. On strode the newcomer, leaping over fallen trees and wading through the brooks to join the band. His long black mane was waving on his neck; his nostrils were quivering; his great eyes were flashing; his splendid antlers rose, branching high above his graceful head.
The fine stranger stalked among the others and smelled them, in their way of getting acquainted. Then he began to feed with them all. The mother elk and little ones followed meekly when he started to lead the band down the mountain. He did not pay much attention to the babies. Sometimes he pushed them out of his way, or drove them hither and thither, as he pleased. He was a selfish old fellow and never thought of taking care of the others. Whenever he found a delicious tuft of juicy grass he hurried to munch it all by himself.
As the frosty days passed by another father elk appeared, and then another and another. Each one wanted to be leader of the band. Many a snowy night the baby elk huddled close to his mother as he listened to the noise of the old father elk roaming through the woods. He could hear them snuffing the frosty air. They beat the bushes with their antlers and stamped on the crackling branches underfoot. The snow lay thick on their bristling manes. Now here in the valley, now there high on the ridge, the sound of their whistling came pealing down through the still white woods in the moonlight.
Often and often the baby trembled as he heard the shrill squealing of two old elk fighting together. Each one was trying to drive the other away from the band. They rushed together with a crash, and pushed and strained, with their antlers locked tight. Though the prongs could not cut through the tough skin of their shoulders, still the weaker one always had to give way and run. The other chased him off and then came back, whistling and barking in triumph, to be leader of the band.
In a few weeks the old elk became tired of fighting. The band settled down to spend a peaceful winter together. Their fur grew long and thick to keep out the cold. On they travelled mile after mile. They were looking for a sheltered spot to be their home during the coldest weather.
The old elk walked so fast that the babies had to gallop to keep from being left behind. Up hills and down gorges they went crashing through thickets and over the rocks. They climbed steep cliffs and went leaping down narrow trails. Even the little ones were sure-footed. They never stumbled or slipped as they bounded over the dead logs and tangled vines between the trees.