CHAPTER V 



MULE DEER AND THE ROCKY MOUNTAIN GOAT 



AFTER the loss of my big ram my luck changed, 

 although I feared at first that I was still beneath 

 a ban. 



Two days after the events recorded in the last 

 chapter, Henry and I went out in quest of goats, 

 having moved our camp some distance down the 

 valley. We found one, it is true, peering at us 

 over some rocks. I had a shot and missed. It is 

 a practice of mine to pull through my rifle after a 

 shot. On this occasion the flannel at the end of 

 my cleaner jammed on the bristle brush, and though 

 we got the cord out all right the flannel and brush 

 remained firmly fixed in the barrel of the rifle. The 

 goat, meanwhile, watched us from a safe distance with 

 a supercilious smile as much as to say, " What are 

 those asses doing?" We, of course, had to return 

 to camp. My knee was still painful and Henry 

 had got his foot frostbitten in crossing the frozen 

 river, so that we were not altogether sorry for a 

 little extra rest. The next day, 21st November, I 

 had what our keeper in Scotland would have called 

 " a fearr-ful maa-ssacre ! " We had to concentrate all 

 our energies on goats and deer, for though Burton 



76 



