Capt. Mills and I took up the center ridge, the two other couples
going on ridges each side of us, but not in sight. After going
about a mile or so we heard two gunshots to our left, and in a few
moments we could hear elk running. The underbrush was so thick
that it was difficult to get a shot at them on the run, so, seeing
an opening that they were sure to cross, provided that they did
not change their course, I had the Captain to stand by the side of
a big tree and level his gun at the opening, and when an elk
darkened the sight to fire, which he did, and got a fine elk. I
fired also, but did not get my elk. He was as proud over killing
that elk as I was over killing my first buffalo.
We hunted until about four o'clock that afternoon, and several
shots were fired, but the Captain was the only one who got an elk
that day. So we loaded that one, and the one I had killed the day
previous, on to our horses and returned to camp with about all the
meat the horses were able to carry.
The next morning I told the other men that as they now knew the
elk range and how to hunt them, and could get along without me as
well as not, that I would hunt for a grizzly bear, and if I could
only kill a grizzly I would be ready to go home. I spent the next
three days bear hunting, and saw any amount of sign, but only saw
one bear and did not get a shot at it.
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