The Antelope-Goat of the Pacific Slope. \ 1 1 



him, the treasured hat having been left behind at Bonner's 

 Ferry. I thought it wise, therefore, if I was to have a " look in " 

 at those goats, to let him take the longer route, while I 

 determined to approach the game from the upper side, entailing 

 no great detour. 



Darby started off under cover of a steep ridge, at a good 

 round pace, which made me wish he was more heavily handi- 

 caped, but it was too late to alter the programme. Putting 

 my best foot foremost I found myself fifteen minutes later craning 

 over the precipice, at the bottom of which I had last seen the 

 goats apparently quite unconscious of danger. A few yards 

 to my right was the steep snow couloir, at which in my hurry 

 to get a glimpse at the "goat" below me, I had, however, not 

 looked. No game was visible on the patch of verdure, but there, 

 squatting behind a rock, I saw Darby, who, to judge by the 

 direction of his rifle, appeared to be in the act of shooting at me. 

 At this moment a clinking of stones close to me at my right 

 attracted my attention. Turning my head sharply, what was 

 my surprise to see seven mountain antelopes calmly climbing up 

 the snow couloir not fifteen yards off. They had already seen 

 me, or rather my head and rifle, for the rest of my body was still 

 under cover of the sharp ridge on the off-side of which I was lying. 

 Other mountain game would have been sent scurrying away by such 

 a suspicious sight ; not so, however, these curious animals. There 

 wasn't a big buck among the lot, so I thought I would just see what 

 they would do. On reaching the top of the couloir where the slant 

 became gentler, they all halted gazing at me, and one, a three or 

 four year old male, absolutely sat down on his haunches in the 

 most unconcerned manner. A rude interruption was, however, in 

 store for them, for Darby, as soon as the animals had got out of his 

 sight, had followed them up the couloir how he ever managed it 

 with slippery moccasins on his feet is a mystery to me and 

 presently I saw his head, with his long hair fluttering wildly in the 

 breeze, pop up over the crest of the ridge. The next second he 

 had opened fire. But even then these queer animals did not dash 



