American Big-Game Hunting 



played us the fiddle, and would have had us 

 sleep inside), arrived bag and baggage the 

 fourth day from the railroad at the forks of 

 the Methow River the next tributary of the 

 Columbia below the Okanagon. 



Here was a smiling country, winning the 

 heart at sight. An ample beauty was over 

 everything Nature had accomplished in this 

 place; the pleasant trees and clear course of 

 the stream, a fertile soil on the levels, the 

 slopes of the foot-hills varied and gentle, un- 

 encumbered by woods, the purple cloak of for- 

 est above these on the mountains, and rising 

 from the valley's head a crown of white, clean 

 frozen peaks. These are known to some as 

 the Isabella Range and Mount Gardner, 

 though the maps do not name them. More- 

 over, I heard that now I was within twenty- 

 five miles of goats; and definite ridges were 

 pointed out as the promised land. 



Many things were said to me, first and last. 

 I remember a ragged old trapper, lately come 

 over the mountains from the Skagit River. 

 Goats, did I say ? On top there the goats 

 had tangled your feet walking in the trail. 

 He had shot two in camp for staring at him. 



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