The old wapiti bull was beginning to feel this pugnacious mood. For weeks he had been rubbing and polishing his antlers. They gleamed like the varnished surface of a piece of fine furniture. During the gray of dawn he had fed near the cows. Now that the white light from the sun-bathed peaks above was making the meadow bright he began to show signs of restlessness. The cows fed on, eager to fill their paunches before they sought deep cover to lie down. The old wapiti shook his horns and lifted his muzzle. He trotted to a little knoll well above his band. He was filled with courage and desire, proud of his fine antlers, conscious of the power within his twelve hundred pounds of weight. He halted and filled his lungs with air, raised his muzzle, and poured forth a guttural roar that increased in pitch to bugle tones, higher and higher until it was a blasting whistle which screamed through the still air of the mountainside. The high notes quavered and faded, ending in a half dozen savage grunts. The old bull seemed to know that he had just executed one of the most inspiring pieces of music in all nature’s mountain songs. He shook his head and listened intently. From a ridge above the challenge of the lord of the band was answered. The challenger’s bugle was not so high and shrill nor so powerful, but it was eager and defiant. The bull on the knoll shook his head and grunted angrily, then he lifted his muzzle and sent his call ringing out through the high, thin air. Again the challenge was answered. A young bull was coming down the slope. In a few minutes the challenger appeared, breaking out of the spruce at a trot, his head swinging back and forth. He was lighter than the old bull by a few pounds and his antlers were not so well filled, but he was big boned and young, a lone knight seeking the end of the lonesome trail, desiring to take his place at the head of a band of cows. The old bull squealed a few short, sharp blasts, his horns swept low, he charged to meet the invader. The young bull came on, his pace increasing to a fast lope. The two great brutes crashed together, their horns locking as they grunted and twisted. For several minutes they tussled in this manner, each trying to sweep the other off his feet. The young bull was forced to his knees but came up with a lunge which set the old one back. Then they parted and backed away, heads still lowered, spreading horns protecting vital parts of their bodies. For a moment they halted with eyes glaring and breath whistling into the grass, then they charged again and the force of the impact sent them both to their knees. The old bull was well aware of the advantage his few extra pounds gave him and he kept hammering away, thrusting the youngster to his knees, eager to weaken him so that he would expose himself to the ripping thrust of horns.