The White Goat and his Country 



of falling stones your descent is almost sure 

 to make. The character of these mountain- 

 sides is such that even with the greatest 

 care in stepping we sent a shower rattling 

 down from time to time. We had a viciously 

 bad climb. We went down through tilted 

 funnels of crag, avoiding jumping off places 

 by crossing slides of brittle slate and shale, 

 hailing a dead tree as an oasis. And then we 



lost count, and T came unexpectedly on 



the goat, which was up and away and was 



shot by T before I could get a sight of 



him. I had been behind some twenty yards, 

 both of us supposing we had to go consider- 

 ably further. T was highly disgusted. 



"To think of me managing such a botch as 

 that," he said, "when you Ve come so far"; 

 and he wanted me to tell the people that I 

 had shot the goat myself. He really cared 

 more than I did. 



This goat was also a billy, and larger than 

 the first. We sat skinning him where he had 

 fallen at the edge of a grove of tamarack, and 



T conversed about the royal family of 



England. He remarked that he had always 

 rather liked "that chap Lome." 



45 



