was no cover save a tiny bush between two and three feet high. We were
quite certain he had neither seen nor winded us. Either he had risen
and fled forward into the ravine up which we had made our stalk, or else
he had entered the small thicket. F. agreed to stay on watch where he
was, while I slipped back and examined the earth to leeward of the
thicket.

I had hardly crawled ten yards, however, before the gentle snapping of
F.'s fingers recalled me to his side.

"He's behind that bush," he whispered in my ear.

I looked. The bush was hardly large enough to conceal a setter dog, and
the sable is somewhat larger than our elk. Nevertheless F. insisted that
the animal was standing behind it, and that he had caught the toss of
its head. We lay still for some time, while the soft, warm rain drizzled
down on us, our eyes riveted on the bush. And then we caught the
momentary flash of curved horns as the sable tossed his head. It seemed
incredible even then that the tiny bush should conceal so large a beast.
As a matter of fact we later found that the bush grew on a slight
elevation, behind which was a depression. In this the sable stood,
patiently enduring the drizzle.

We waited some time in hopes he would move forward a foot or so; but
apparently he had selected his loafing place with care, and liked it.
The danger of a shift of wind was always present. Finally I slipped back
over the brink of the ravine, moved three yards to the left, and crawled
up through the tall dripping grass to a new position behind a little
bush. Cautiously raising my head, I found I could see plainly the
sable's head and part of his shoulders. My position was cramped and out