American Big-Game Hunting 
Forks, in a straight line. Here the valley 
split at right angles against a tall face of 
mountain, and each way the stream was re- 
duced to a brook one could cross afoot. The 
new valley became steep and narrow almost 
at once, and so continued to the divide 
between Columbia water and tributaries of 
the Skagit. We lived comfortably in an old 
cabin built by prospectors. The rain filtered 
through the growing weeds and sand on the 
roof and dropped on my head in bed; but not 
much, and I was able to steer it off by a rub- 
ber blanket. And of course there was no 
glass in the windows; but to keep out wind and 
wet we hung gunny sacks across those small 
holes, and the big stone fireplace was mag- 
nificent. 
By ten next morning T and I saw 
“three hundred” goats on the mountain op- 
posite where we had climbed. Just here I 
will risk a generalization. When a trapper 
tells you he has seen so many hundred head 
of game, he has not counted them, but he 
believes what he says. The goats T 
and I now looked at were a mile away in an 
air-line, and they seemed numberless. The 
54 
