American Big Game in its Haunts 



At noon of August 22 Blake and outfit started 

 for his shooting grounds at the eastern end of the 

 sheep range, and shortly after my outfit was under 

 way. My head man and the natives carried 

 packs of some sixty pounds, while I carried about 

 fifty pounds besides my rifle, glasses, and car- 

 tridges; even my dog Stereke had some thirty 

 pounds of canned goods in a pack saddle. 



Our first march led up the mountain over a 

 fairly steep trail, a gale accompanied by rain meet- 

 ing us as we came out from the timber on to the 

 high mossy plateau. The wind swept down from, 

 the hills in great gusts, and our small tent tugged 

 and pulled at its stakes until I greatly feared it 

 would not stand the strain. It had moderated 

 somewhat by the next morning, and we made an 

 early start. 



Our line of march, well above timber, led along 

 the base of the summits for some miles, then 

 swinging to the left we laboriously climbed over 

 one range and dropped into the valley beyond. A 

 strong wind made it hard going, and sometimes 

 turned us completely around as it struck slanting 

 upon the packs which we carried. During the day 

 sheep were seen in the distance, but we did not 

 stop, for we were anxious to reach before dark a 

 place where Hunter — my head man — had usually 



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