86 CAMP-FIRES IN THE CANADIAN ROCKIES 



to the goat it must have looked otherwise. Choosing a 

 narrow, light-gray line of stratification that extended 

 across the entire width of the wall, the solitary animal 

 set out on its promenade. The distance to be traversed 

 to reach the uppermost point of our sky-pasture was 

 about fifteen hundred feet, and the contour line chosen 

 was about four hundred feet above our position. The 

 incident was like a curtain-raiser to a tragic play. 



That goat's walk was a very tame performance. The 

 animal plodded steadily along, never faster, never slower, 

 but still with a purposeful air, like a postman delivering 

 mail. For a mountain goat, not pursued or frightened, 

 it was a rapid walk, probably three miles an hour. Its 

 legs swung to and fro with the regularity and steadiness 

 of four pendulums, and I think they never once paused. 

 The animal held to that one line of stratification, until 

 near the end of its promenade. There a great mass of 

 rock had broken away from the face of the cliff, and the 

 goat was forced to climb down about fifty feet, then up 

 again, to regain its chosen route. A few minutes later 

 its ledge ran out upon the apex of the sky-meadow. 

 There Billy paused for a moment, to look about him; 

 then he picked out a soft spot, precisely where the steep 

 slope of the meadow ended against the rocky peak, and 

 lay down to rest. 



Up to that time, Mr. Phillips and I had killed only 

 one goat each, and as we lay there we had time to de- 

 cide upon the future. He resolved to kill one fine goat 

 as a gift to the Carnegie Museum, and I wished two 

 more for my own purposes. We decided that at a total 



