PHOTOGRAPHING A MOUNTAIN GOAT 183 



that grew at timber-line, then climbed back to his favor- 

 ite contour line, to lie and doze away the hours. 



That goat seemed so sociable that finally we began 

 to regard him as one of us, and we scrutinized him and 

 apostrophized him to our heart's content. On the fourth 

 morning, the beautifully clear sky and faultless atmos- 

 phere revealed a rare opportunity. While the cook was 

 putting the finishing touches to an inspiring breakfast 

 of fried mule-deer steaks and other luxuries, those of 

 us who had most quickly succeeded in finding the clean 

 spots on the camp towels took our usual early-morning 

 gaze at " that old goat." (Ye gods! How glorious was 

 the crisp air, the spruce-woods odor, the crackle and 

 snap of the camp-fire, and the golden glow of sunrise on 

 the western peaks and precipices! That was life, — with- 

 out a flaw.) 



As we gathered around our standing-lunch breakfast 

 table, I remarked to Mr. Phillips that it would be a 

 glorious feat to secure some really fine photographs of 

 that billy goat in his natural environment. Turning to 

 his side partner, Mr. Phillips said very positively, 



" Mack, it is up to the unscientific section to get those 

 pictures! " 



" I dunno about them environments," answered Mack 

 slowly, while he steered a long line of condensed cream 

 into his cofifee-cup, " but we can shore git a boxful of 

 scenery up thar. We never yet shot a full-grown billy 

 with a camery; and they're mighty onsartin critters. If 

 we corral him too close, he'll like as not go vicious, and 

 knock us clean off the mountain." 



