142 The Wilderness Hunter 



of the rocks, we did not see our quarry until early 

 in the afternoon. 



We had clambered up one side of a steep saddle 

 of naked rock, some of the scarped ledges being dif- 

 ficult, and indeed dangerous, of ascent. From the 

 top of the saddle a careful scrutiny of the neigh- 

 boring peaks failed to reveal any game, and we be- 

 gan to go down the other side. The mountain fell 

 away in a succession of low cliffs, and we had to 

 move with the utmost caution. In letting ourselves 

 down from ledge to ledge one would hold the guns 

 until the other got safe footing, and then pass them 

 down to him. In many places we had to work our 

 way along the cracks in the faces of the frost-riven 

 rocks. At last, just as we reached a little smooth 

 shoulder, my companion said, pointing down be- 

 neath us, "Look at the white goat!" 



A moment or two passed before I got my eyes on 

 it. We were looking down into a basin-like valley, 

 surrounded by high mountain chains. At one end 

 of the basin was a low pass, where the ridge was 

 cut up with the zigzag trails made by the countless 

 herds of game which had traveled it for many gen- 

 erations. At the other end was a dark gorge, 

 through which a stream foamed. The floor of the 

 basin was bright emerald green, dotted with darker 

 bands where belts of fir trees grew; and in its mid- 

 dle lay a little lake. 



At last I caught sight of the goat, feeding on a 



