A Shooting Trip to the Basin for Sheep 
in the latter end of October. On arriving at 
Ashcroft, we took the coach for Clinton, where 
we engaged an Indian, a half-breed, and a China- 
man, called Sing, as cook. The Indian had pack- 
horses and necessary tackle, whilst I had the 
camp outfit. After rather a long and wearisome 
journey, which took us three days, and in the 
course of which we had to swim our pack and 
riding horses across the Fraser River, we ar- 
rived in a valley where goats were supposed to 
be numerous. I did not want to kill any more 
of these animals, having already obtained four 
of them some months before, but as my com- 
panion had never obtained one, we spent a 
couple of days here, and I killed several black- 
tailed deer, one of which had a pretty although 
not a large head. 
The season was getting late now to be in the 
mountains, and the cold was intense. The 
second morning after our arrival at the goat 
camp, I asked Sing what the day was like, to 
which he replied, ‘‘ Heap snow live, Mr. Tudley 
—damn cold!” It is, I believe, quite an un- 
usual thing to get a Chinaman to come into the 
woods. They are first-class servants for the 
house, but draw the line at camping out. How- 
ever, this man proved worth his weight in gold. 
I had given him a couple of blankets, but think- 
ing, or rather knowing, that he would be cold 
even with these, and feeling that he would not 
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