No country of the temperate zone can begin to compare with South Asia, and, above all, tropical and subtropical Africa, in the number and size of those great beasts of the chase which are known to hunters as big game; but after the Indian and African hunting-grounds, the best are still those of North America. Until a few years before 1897 there were large regions, even in the United States, where the teeming myriads of wild game, though of far fewer and less varied species, almost equalled the multitudes found in South Africa, and much surpassed those found anywhere else in point of numbers, though inferior in variety to those of India.

This, however, is now a thing of the past. The bison, which was the most characteristic animal of the American fauna, has been practically exterminated. There remained in 1897, however, a fair abundance of all other kinds of game. Perhaps, on the whole, the one affording most sport from the stand-point of the hardy and skilful hunter is the big-horn, though in size and in magnificence of horn it is surpassed by some of the wild sheep of Asia.

There is a spice of danger in the pursuit of the grizzly-bear—the largest of all the land bears—especially in Alaska, where it is even larger than its Kamtchatkan brother. The moose and the wapiti—ordinarily called the elk—are closely related to the Old-World representatives of their kind; but the moose is a little larger and the wapiti very much larger than any of their European or Asiatic kinsfolk. In particular, the elk, or wapiti, is the stateliest of all deer, and the most beautiful of American game beasts.

It is a pity we cannot always call the wapiti by its right name, but the hunters and settlers never know him as anything but the elk, and I fear it would be pedantry to try to establish his rightful title. In former days the elk ranged to tide-water on the Atlantic coast. A few lingered in Pennsylvania until 1869, and throughout the middle of the century they were abundant on the great plains. In 1888 I shot one on the Little Missouri, however. In many parts of the Rocky Mountains and of the Coast Range the species is still as abundant as ever, and this is especially true of northwestern Wyoming, since that great animal-preserve the Yellowstone Park swarms with elk, and is their natural nursery and breeding-ground.

The elk is the lordliest of his kind throughout the world. The Scotch stag is a pygmy but a fourth his size. The stags of eastern Europe are larger than those of Scotland, and in Asia larger still, approaching in size a small wapiti. They are all substantially alike except in size.

The wapiti is rather easier to kill than the deer, because his size makes it easier to see him; and he is slower in his movements, so that he is easier to hit. When pressed he can gallop very hard for a few hundred yards, but soon becomes tired. The trot is his natural gait, and this he can keep up for hours at a time, going at a pace which makes it necessary for a horse to gallop smartly to overtake him, and clearing great logs in his stride, while he dodges among the thick timber in a really marvellous way, when one comes to think of the difficulty he must have in handling his great antlers.

Late in September the rut begins, and then the elk gather in huge bands, while the great bulls fight vicious battles for leadership. Hunters call this the whistling-time, because throughout its continuance the bulls are very noisy, continually challenging one another. Their note is really not much like a whistle. It consists of two or three bars, rising and then falling, ending with a succession of grunts; the tone of voice varies greatly in different individuals; but when heard at a little distance in the heart of the great wooded wilderness the sound is very musical, and to me—and, I suppose, to most hunters—it is one of the most attractive sounds in all nature.

At this season the big bulls are quite easy to approach by any man at all skilled in still-hunting, for their incessant challenging betrays their whereabouts, and they are so angry and excited as to be less watchful than usual. Some of my most pleasurable memories of hunting are connected with stalking some great bull elk in frosty weather, when the woods rang with his challenges.

One evening in early October I was camped high among the mountains of western Montana. We were travelling with a pack-train, and had pitched our small tent among some firs by a brook, while the horses grazed in the little park or meadow close by. Elk were plentiful round about. We had seen their trails everywhere, and late in the afternoon we had caught a glimpse of a band of cows as they disappeared among the pines.

Towards morning I was awakened by hearing a bull challenge not very far from camp. The sound of the challenge kept coming nearer and nearer, and finally I heard one of the horses snort loudly in response; evidently the elk saw them, and, not making out exactly what they were, was coming down to join them. Sometimes horses will stampede when thus approached; but our ponies were veterans, and were very tired, and evidently had no intention of leaving their good pasture.

Sitting up in my blankets, I could tell from the sound that they were still in the park, and then the challenge of the bull came pealing up not three hundred yards from the tent. This was more than I could stand, and I jumped up and put on my shoes and jacket. The moon was bright, but shooting by moonlight is very deceptive, and I doubt whether I would have hit him even had I got down to the park in time. However, he had moved on before I got down, and I heard his challenge in the woods beyond.

Looking at my watch, I saw that it was nearly dawn. I returned to the tent and laid down as I was under the blankets, and shivered and dozed for half an hour, then I came back to the meadow, where the pack-ponies stood motionless. In the brightening light the moon paled, and I was very soon able to pick out the bull’s trail on the frost-covered ground, where it was almost as plain as if he had been walking in snow. I saw that he had struck up a long valley, from which a pass led into a wooded basin. At the top of the pass I lost the trail entirely, and as it was almost impossible to see for any distance through the woods, I came to the conclusion that the best thing to do was to sit down and await events.

I did not have long to wait. In a couple of minutes the bugle of a bull came echoing across the basin through the frosty morning. Evidently my friend was still travelling, hunting for some possibly weaker rival. Almost immediately I heard far off another answering the challenge, and I stood up and meditated what to do. There was very little air, but such as there was blew to one side of the spot from which the last challenge seemed to come, and I immediately struck off at a trot through the woods to get below the wind.

The answer to the challenge had evidently greatly excited the bull whose trail I had been following; he called every two or three minutes. The other answer was somewhat more irregular, and as I drew nearer I could tell from the volume of sound that the second challenge was from some big master-bull, who probably had his herd around him, and was roaring defiance at his would-be despoiler, for the single bull was doubtless on the lookout for some weaker one whom he could supplant as master of a herd.

It was likely that the second bull, being a herd-master, would have the larger antlers, and I therefore preferred to get a shot at him. However, I was doomed to disappointment. As I groped towards the herd, and was within a couple of hundred yards, as I knew by the volume of sound, I almost stumbled upon a small spike-bull, who was evidently loitering about the outskirts of the herd, not daring to go too near the bad-tempered old chief. This little bull dashed away, giving the alarm, and a clash in the bushes soon told that the herd was following him.

But luck favored me. The master-bull, being absorbed in thoughts of his rival, evidently suspected that the cows had some thought of fleeing from him, and, as they ran, tried to hold them together. I ran too, going at full speed, with the hope of cutting him off; in this I failed, but I came almost face to face with the very bull which I had been following from camp, and which had evidently followed the herd at full speed as soon as they ran.

Great was his astonishment when he saw me. He pulled up so suddenly to wheel round that he almost fell on his side; then off he went in a plunging gallop of terror; but he was near by, and stepping to one side I covered an opening between two trees, firing the minute he appeared. A convulsive leap showed that the bullet had struck, and after him I went at full speed. In a short time I saw him again, walking along with drooping head, and again I fired into his flank; he seemed to pay no attention to the shot, but walked forward a few steps, then halted, faltered, and fell on his side. In another second I had placed my rifle against a tree, and was admiring his shapely form and massive antlers.