American Big-Game Hunting 
into a tall impassable cafion through which 
the stream joined the Twispt, miles below. 
It was a little lap of land clear at the top 
of the mountains, the final peaks and ridges 
of which rose all around, walling it in com- 
pletely. You must climb these to be able to 
see into it, and the only possible approach for 
pack-horses was the pine-tree slant, down 
which we came. Of course there was no 
trail. 
We prospected before venturing, and T 
the guide, shook his head. It was only a 
question of days—possibly of hours—when 
snow must shut the place off from the world 
untilspring. But T appreciated the three 
thousand miles I had come for goats; and if 
the worst came to the worst, said he, we could 
‘make it in” to the Forks on foot, leading 
the horses, and leaving behind all baggage 
that weighed anything. So we went down. 
Our animals slipped a little, the snow balling 
their feet; but nothing happened, and we 
reached the bottom and chose a camp in 
a clump of tamarack and pine. The little 
stream, passing through shadows here, ran 
under a lid of frozen snow easily broken, and 
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