THE TRIP UP ROSS RIVER 265 



and I realized that the only chance of finding sheep was 

 to climb the slopes of Mount Sheldon. 



Late in the afternoon, after having taken compass di- 

 rections and having made sketch maps of the surround- 

 ing country, I turned my field-glasses toward Lewis Lake 

 to look over the shores, and saw near the lower end a cow 

 moose with her calf, both well out from the shore and re- 

 peatedly plunging their heads under water to pull up some 

 succulent weeds growing below the surface. It was ab- 

 solutely calm and the lake was like glass; the sun was 

 low in a sky of gold and crimson; Mount Sheldon, grim 

 and desolate, towered over the wild regions below; the 

 silence pervading the landscape was unbroken. But the 

 wilderness depths revealed a scene of life the calf moose 

 and its mother separated from the recesses of their forest 

 abode, and feeding in the dimly shining water of the lake. 

 I had to hasten down to reach camp before dark. Ptarmi- 

 gan were abundant, but I saw no signs of ground-squirrels 

 to remind me of past days spent in other mountains. 



