A Trip After Mountain Sheep 253 



ing, the cowboy already inside with the fire started. 

 Throughout the night the temperature sank lower 

 and lower, and it was impossible to keep the crazy 

 old hut anywhere near freezing-point; the wind 

 whistled through the chinks and crannies of the logs, 

 and, after a short and by no means elaborate supper, 

 we were glad to cower down with our great fur 

 coats still on, under the pile of buffalo robes and 

 bear skins. My sleeping-bag came in very handily, 

 and kept me as warm as possible, in spite of the bit- 

 ter frost. 



We were up and had taken breakfast next morn- 

 ing by the time the first streak of dawn had dimmed 

 the brilliancy of the stars, and immediately after- 

 ward strode off on foot, as we had been hampered 

 by the horses on the day before. We walked brisk- 

 ly across the plain until, by the time it was light 

 enough to see to shoot, we came to the foot of a 

 great hill, known as Middle Butte, a huge, isolated 

 mass of rock, several miles in length, and with high 

 sides, very steep toward the nearly level summit; 

 it would be deemed a mountain of no inconsiderable 

 size in the East. We hunted carefully through the 

 outlying foothills and projecting spurs around its 

 base, without result, finding but a few tracks, and 

 those very old ones, and then toiled up to the top, 

 which, though narrow in parts, in others widened 

 out into plateaus half a mile square. Having made 

 a complete circuit of the top, peering over the edge 

 and closely examining the flanks of the butte with 

 the field-glass, without having seen anything, we 



