XII 



THE GAME OF THE HIGH PEAKS : THE WHITE GOAT 



N the fall of 1886 I went far west to the Rockies 

 and took a fortnight's hunting trip among the 

 northern spurs of the Coeur d'Alene, between 

 the towns of Heron and Horseplains in Mon- 

 tana. There are many kinds of game to be 

 found in the least known or still untrodden 

 parts of this wooded mountain wilderness 

 caribou, elk, ungainly moose with great 

 shovel horns, cougars, and bears. But I 

 did not have time to go deeply into the 

 heart of the forest-clad ranges, and devoted 

 my entire energies to the chase of but one 

 animal, the white antelope-goat, then the 

 least known and rarest of all American game. 



We started from one of those most dismal and forlorn of all places, a 

 dead mining town, on the line of the Northern Pacific Railroad. My fore- 

 man, Merrifield, was with me, and for guide I took a tall, lithe, happy- 

 go-lucky mountaineer, who, like so many of the restless frontier race, was 

 born in Missouri. Our outfit was simple, as we carried only blankets, a 

 light wagon sheet, the ever-present camera, flour, bacon, salt, sugar, and 

 coffee : canned goods are very unhandy to pack about on horseback. Our 

 rifles and ammunition, with the few cooking-utensils and a book or two, 

 completed the list. Four solemn ponies and a ridiculous little mule named 

 Walla Walla bore us and our belongings. The Missourian was an expert 

 packer, versed in the mysteries of the " diamond hitch," the only arrange- 

 ment of the ropes that will insure a load staying in its place. Driving a 

 pack train through the wooded paths and up the mountain passes that we 



