THE MOUNTAIN GOAT AT HOME 6i 



his goat fell over like a sack of oats, and went rolling 

 down the hill. My goat turned to run, and as he did so 

 I sent two more shots after him. Then he disappeared 

 behind some rocks. Mack, John and I ran forward, to 

 keep him in sight, and fire more shots if necessary. But 

 no goat was to be seen. 



" He can't get away!" said Norboe, reassuringly. 



" He's dead\ " said I, by way of an outrageous blufif. 

 "You'll find him down on the slide-rock!" But in- 

 wardly I was torn by doubts. 



We hurried down the steep incline, and presently 

 came to the top of a naked wall of rock. Below that was 

 a wide expanse of slide-rock. 



" Thar he is! " cried Norboe. " Away down yonder, 

 out on the slide-rock, dead as a wedge." 



From where he stood when I fired, the goat had run 

 back about two hundred feet, where he fell dead, and 

 then began to roll. We traced him by a copious stream 

 of blood on the rocks. He fell down the rock wall, for 

 a hundred feet, in a slanting direction, and then — to my 

 great astonishment — he rolled two hundred feet farther 

 (by measurement) on that ragged, jagged slide-rock be- 

 fore he fetched up against a particularly large chunk of 

 stone, and stopped. We expected to find his horns 

 broken, but they were quite uninjured. The most dam- 

 age had been inflicted upon his nose, which was badly 

 cut and bruised. The bullet that ended his life (my sec- 

 ond shot) went squarely through the valves of his heart; 

 but I regret to add that one thigh-bone had been broken 

 by another shot, as he ran from me. 



