mv shoulders.rnEach year outfitters put a couple ofrncamps iu west of Indian Ridge, at thernhead of South Fork of Fontenellc Creek.rnThe- ecjuip the dudes who want themrnwith horses, and turn the rest loose onrnthe forested slopes to beat the timberrnand kick the elk over the ridgetop andrndown the eastern cliff face, where theyrnfind me lying on my belly waiting forrnthem with the rifle across a log. Thisrnmorning I failed to reach the log beforernelk began to spill across the ridge, compellingrnme to take cover in a pine standrnwhere I discovered a springy, fairly unsuitablernbranch for a rest. The elk separatedrnas they descended into two herdsrnof 20 or 2 5 animals each, one group movingrnlower on the slope than the other;rnmostly cows and calves, some spikes, butrnalso a number of good bulls, five or sixpointersrnto judge by their coloration,rnbulk, and the angle at which thev carriedrntheir heads. They were still 800 or 900rnards out, and holding so tightly togetherrnthat it would have been next to impossiblernto kill one without woundingrnseveral more. The 200-odd hooves strikingrnupon scree filled the shallow concavitvrnof the cliff wall with a roar like that ofrnapproaching cavalry, causing me to rememberrnthe hunter in camp who hadrnleft only minutes before to collect hisrnhorses—and his friends. They would bernarriving momentarily, riding straight atrntlie herds scrambling high above the forestrnfloor—far too high still for a responsiblernshot, hi five or even four minutes thernlower herd, which included two of thernbiggest bulls, would have descendedrnwithin rifle range, but in much less timernthe riders would be upon me, takingrncraz shots and scaring the animals backrnout of range, if thev did not actuallyrnwound some of them. The sound ofrntraveling elk became confused in mvrnmind with the clatter of horses approachingrnalong the trail from the rear.rnAhead} m- too hasty maneuverings for arnbetter rest had caught the attention ofrnone of the lead cows, who stopped shortrnand pointed her nose downhill in my direction.rnStepping forvard abruptly fromrnthe trees I fired a shot into the air, causingrnhalf a hundred elk to wheel almost asrnone animal and flow back up the ridge tornthe saddle where the horse trail wentrnover. Then, shouldering the rifle, I startedrnfor camp, expecting to meet up withrnthe party of horsemen on the way. hirnfact I encountered no such party, nor didrnI ever see the gray-bearded hunter himselfrnagaiir.rnfialf an hour later the mare wasrnbreasting the trail to the top of the cliff,rnwhere we turned and followed the herdrnnorthward a few hundred yards belowrnthe ridgeline where, of a sudden, we werernentirely surrounded by elk: great darkrnshadows leaping, bounding, sprintingrnthrough the trees and over deadfall in totalrnuncanny silence. I swung down fromrnthe mare, drew the rifle from the scabbard,rnand was proceeding on foot whenrnthree shots at very close range explodedrnahead, catching us on the verge of arnclearing in the wind-stunted pines. Irndropped the reins, bolted a shell into thernfiring chamber, and froze with the marernat my back, watching the opposite edgernand the narrow corridor that ran behindrnit through the trees. When the first elkrnappeared, its dark face reddened by sunlight,rnI was certain that it must have seenrnus. But we remained moveless, and itrncontinued along the corridor passing behindrna thicket away from the now audiblernvoices of the unseen hunters. I setrnthe rifle stock against my shoulder andrnthe telescopic sight on the next openingrnin the trees, m heart pounding but thernrifle steady in m grip as I waited. Therncow trotted directly behind the reticule,rnfollowed, as I brought the gun down, byrnan earnest but apparently carefree calf.rnThe outfitters’ camps were quietrnthat afternoon, and nobody kicked backrngame for me to shoot. I rode out asrnmuch of that high magnificent countrv’rnas I could, riding as far south as the endrnof Indian Ridge above the deep gorge ofrnSouth Fork, with views to the mountainsrnof Idaho and Ihah and a towering columnrnof gray and pink smoke rising fromrna prairie fire 40 miles away at NuggetrnCanyon. I rode through timber andrnacross open parks, hunting as John Kovachrnhad taught me so many ears agornwhen, in a good season, the Kovachrncamp had four or five animals down atrnonce and we picked them up with a packrnstring and a chainsaw on October 31. Atrnthe center of one of these parks I camernupon a pile of half-burned pine boughs,rnrelic of an accident I had witnessed severalrnyears before in which a hunter fromrnFort Bridger reccixed a compound fracturernof the leg from being bucked off hisrnhorse when the pistol he was carryingrntied into the saddle strings discharged arnload of bird shot. While one of his partyrnwent to call for help on the cellularrnphone, the others built a smudge fire ofrngreen pine to guide the Lifeflight helicopterrnfronr Salt Lake City in. On thernway to water the mare at the outfitters’rnspring we were nearly run over by thernbiggest cow elk I had ever seen, fleeing inrnterror at our approach from behind arntree. When wc arrived back at camp thernshadow of Indian Ridge made an earh’rntwilight, and the firepit was cold. I builtrnup a roaring blaze in it and poured threernfingers of the whiskey, which seemedrnmore inspirational than it had the previousrnevening. Stretched on the groundrnwith the drink in m hand, watching thernblue smoke shot with sparks rollingrnamong the black spires of the trees, I didrnnot really care whether I shot an elk thisrnseason or not. The engagement at closernquarters that I had experienced all dayrnseemed more than sufficient satisfactionrnor reward.rnThe next morning was as still andrnwarm as the previous one had been.rnRestless from a surfeit of sleep I rose early,rnhiked the few hundred ards in almostrnpitch dark to the log, and sat with thernrifle across my lap, awaiting first light.rnWhen it came, I discerned no game onrnthe ridge above. As I had expected, thernshots and excitement of the day beforernhad caused the elk to go deep in therntimber, where they would hold for thernnext several days. Dutifully but withoutrnenthusiasm I entered the forest andrnchecked the openings and the gamerntrails connecting them. I was nearly backrnat the log when the outfitters’ dudes cutrnloose. B’ the time the first elk showedrnon the ridgeline I was behind it, cradlingrnthe rifle on a perpendicular stob. Theyrnwere a cow, a spike, and a three-point,rnwhich however was hanging far behindrnthe first two animals. I had the spike justrnin range when suddenly he stopped andrnposed for me there on the steep, as if hernwanted his picture taken: young, handsome,rnand very proud. The bullet’s impactrnknocked him back on his suddenlyrnpowerless haunches, and then he fell,rnrolling and bounding over the clatteringrntalus blocks. It took him as long to die asrnI required to reach him across 650 yards,rnand as I clambered upward he beat arnfrantic tattoo on the rock with his frontrnhooves, rolled his eyes, and emitted a terriblerndeath-veil. The eyes remained widernopen, clear, and sentient in death, as ifrnhe intended to haunt me for the rest ofrnmy life. I had him gutted in four minutes,rnand flung a piece of the liver to onernof the squawking attenti e camp robbersrnthat had been following me all morningrnfrom tree to tree. ‘^rn50/CHRONICLESrnrnrn