For several days I watched this point, but those rams never came back to
it again. However, not long after this I was amply rewarded, and secured
a fine specimen. From one of the high ledges I was looking down into a
sort of amphitheater shut in by massive rocky heights. In this secluded
retreat a little band of ewes, with one grand old patriarch as their
master, could be seen every day disporting themselves with many a
curious gambol. After many unsuccessful attempts, I was enabled to get a
shot, and great was my delight at depriving the little band of their
supercilious protector. Upon another occasion I was camping away back up
in the mountains, where there were about eighteen inches of snow on the
ground. The weather had been villainous; there was no meat in the camp,
and I determined to see if I could not get a deer. The prospect was not
very cheering, for shortly after starting a heavy fog shut down, hiding
all objects from view. I had not proceeded far, however, when I struck
the fresh track of a ram, and, following it cautiously for about a mile
through the open, it led into a dense patch of pine on the side of the
mountain. Proceeding very carefully now, I soon made out the outline of
a fine old ram that had wandered off here in the timber to be by
himself. Giving him no time to run, for I was close upon him, certainly
not farther than twenty-five yards, I planted a shot just back of the
shoulder, but he did not seem to mind it. I gave him another when he
started to walk slowly off. One more shot in the same place, and down he
came. Even then he died hard. Such is the vitality of an old ram; for
upon examining him I found his heart all torn to pieces. This was a good
head of nearly sixteen inches circumference of horns, and the girth of
chest was forty-six inches. In returning to camp for horses to pack him
on, I jumped five more sheep, but having done well enough, they were
allowed to disappear in safety.
Sheep have a wonderfully keen vision, and it is absolutely useless to
try to get to them if they once see you, unless you happen to be above
them and on their favorite runway; then they huddle together and try to
break back past you. The only safe rule is to travel high and keep
working up above their feeding-grounds. In the spring of the year they
are much easier to kill than in the fall, for then the heavy winter
snows have driven them out of the mountains, and they come low down
after the fresh green grass. The rams are then in bands, having laid
aside the hostility that later in the year seems to possess each and
every one of them.
I was much interested once in watching a band of eight rams, all of them
old fellows. They would feed early in the morning and then betake
themselves to a large rock which stood on a grassy slope, where they
would play for hours. One of them would jump on the rock and challenge
the others to butt him off. Two or three would then jump up, and their
horns would come together with a clash that I could hear from my
position, which was fully a quarter of a mile away. On one occasion I
saw them suddenly stop their play and each ram became fixed; there the
little band stood as though carved out of stone. They remained that way
for quite half an hour without a movement. I could not detect with the
glasses the slightest motion, when, presently, three strange rams made
their appearance. Here was the explanation that I was looking for. They
had seen them long before I had. The three visitors were not very well
received, but were compelled to beat an ignominious and hasty retreat up
the mountain side.
* * * * *
As summer draws near, and the winter snow begins to disappear, bands of
elk may be seen migrating toward their favorite ranges. The bulls are
now together in bands of greater or less extent. Their horns are well
grown out, but are soft and in the velvet. The cows and calves stick
closely to the thick timber. As the season advances and the flies become
troublesome, the bulls will get up as high as they can climb and seem to
delight in standing on the brink of some mountain precipice. I have
often wondered, in seeing them standing thus, whether they were
insensible of the magnificent scenery that surrounded them.
Reader, what would you have given to have seen, as I have, a band of two
hundred and fifty bull-elk collected together on a beautiful piece of
green grassy turf at an elevation of nine thousand feet? Here was a
sight to make a man's nerves tingle. This was the largest band of bulls,
by actual count, that I have ever seen, though my cousin and partner
once saw in the fall of the year, including bulls, cows, and calves,
fifteen hundred. This was on the memorable occasion when the only elk
ever killed by any of my men gave up his life, and we have all concluded
that this particular elk was frightened to death; for though three men
shot at him and each was confident he hit him, they always asserted
afterward that no bullet-mark could be found on him.
Generally, in August, in each band of bulls there will be found one or
two barren cows. About the end of August, after the bulls have rubbed
the velvet off their antlers, they will come back to the vicinity of the
bands of cows. I have seen bulls as late as September 4 peaceably
feeding or resting among the bands of cows. Usually, in a band of fifty
cows, there would be three or four males, including, possibly, one or
two spike-bulls.[A] I have seen these spike-bulls in the velvet as late
as September 4, though by that time the older bulls had mostly rubbed
the velvet off. A little later, about September 7, the bulls begin to
challenge each other,--in hunting parlance, "to whistle." This, on a
clear, frosty night, is sometimes extremely melodious, and it is one of
the most impossible sounds to imitate. Hunting elk, if I may be pardoned
for saying it, I do not consider very exciting sport to a man thoroughly
versed in the woods. They are far too noble an animal to kill
unnecessarily, and if one hunts them in September, when they are
whistling, it is a very easy matter, guided by the sound, to stalk them
successfully.
[Footnote A: A spike-bull is a young elk carrying his first or dag
antlers. These are single-tined, though in rare instances they are
bifurcated.]
[Illustration: Studying the Strangers.