American Big-Game Hunting 
up, a large part of the way on hands and 
knees. I carried the two rifles and the glass, 
going in front to stamp some sort of a trail 
in the sliding rocks, while T panted be- 
hind me, bearing the goat-hide on his back. 
Our next hunt was from seven till four, up 
and down, in the presence of noble and lonely 
mountains. The straight peaks which mar- 
shal round the lake of Chelan were in our 
view near by, beyond the valley of the Twispt, 
and the whole Cascade range rose endlessly, 
and seemed to fill the world. Except in Swit- 
zerland, I have never seen such an unbroken 
area of mountains. And all this beauty going 
begging, while each year our American citi- 
zens of the East, more ignorant of their own 
country and less identified with its soil than 
any race upon earth, herd across the sea to 
the tables d’héte they know by heart! But 
this is wandering a long way from goats, of 
which this day we saw none. 
A gale set in after sunset. This particular 
afternoon had been so mellow, the sun had 
shone so clear from a stable sky, that I had 
begun to believe the recent threats of winter 
were only threats, and that we had some open 
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