LAKE NO. 1
[To face page 110.
What was done was done, and there was no use making a fuss. If I were making such a trip again, I would ask the men to leave their rifles behind, for they cannot resist shooting at anything that comes their way.
He had come back at once to tell me, and begged of me to go out with him and take up the track, which was only about a mile away.
The rain was again falling and we had only a couple of hours of daylight, but still I decided to see for myself the tracks and ascertain, if possible, whether the bull had been wounded and where. Taking Thomson with us, we started and were soon as usual wet through.
We found the spot where Smith had come on the bull and fired. There were a few traces of blood, but they were all high up on the bushes, and from the pace the wapiti was travelling, it was evident he was none the worse for the light bullet of Smith's Winchester rifle.
We followed the track till dusk and had a weary tramp back to camp in the dark.
I had again ricked my knee and was in considerable pain. Everything seemed to have gone wrong, first my accident, then Smith's, and now a wounded wapiti that we might never find.
The prospect of the morrow's work with a swollen and painful knee was not very cheering, and I think we were all rather sad when we turned in that night.
September 9th. It had rained all night and was still pelting when we started. I had to walk with a stick and was unable to carry my own rifle.