The White Goat and his Country 
of falling stones your descent is almost sure 
to make. The character of these mountain- 
sides is such that even with the greatest 
care in stepping we sent a shower rattling 
down from time to time. We had a viciously 
bad climb. We went down through tilted 
funnels of crag, avoiding jumping off places 
by crossing slides of brittle slate and shale, 
hailing a dead tree asan oasis. And then we 
lost count, and T came unexpectedly on 
the goat, which was up and away and was 
shot by T before I could get a sight of 
him. I had been behind some twenty yards, 
both of us supposing we had to go consider- 
ably further. T was highly disgusted. 
“To think of me managing such a botch as 
that,” he said, “when you ’ve come so far”; 
and he wanted me to tell the people that I 
had shot the goat myself. He really cared 
more than I did. 
This goat was also a billy, and larger than 
the first. We sat skinning him where he had 
fallen at the edge of a grove of tamarack, and 
ny conversed about the royal family of 
England. He remarked that he had always 
rather liked “that chap Lorne.” 
45 
