THE GLENLYON MOUNTAINS 291 



came alarming. Taking out my knife I had to cut steps 

 through a crust too hard to break with my feet, and my 

 anxiety was only relieved when I finally stepped upon the 

 rocks of a ridge I had to cross in order to shorten the 

 descent to the valley. 



September 29. The next day, the last that I could 

 spare for hunting in the Glenlyon Mountains, was clear 

 and cold. Starting early, I walked rapidly up the valley 

 to the forks of the creek. On a mountain beyond the 

 forks I saw a single ewe with a lamb, both travelling rap- 

 idly; the ewe was especially alert and watchful. Often 

 I have seen these single ewes, detached for one reason 

 or another from their band, hastening to find it. When 

 alone they always suffer from intensified sense of danger. 



I then climbed a high mountain to the east, and, pass- 

 ing over its crest, saw on the other side a mountainous 

 country of rolling slopes filled with canons and ravines, 

 all leading up to a rough range beyond. Three hundred 

 yards below me were two ewes, each with a lamb, and 

 a small ram. Carefully concealing myself among some 

 rocks, I was interested in testing their sense of hearing. 

 Several marmots, nearer to them than I was, had been 

 whistling. The sheep were quite indifferent to the sound. 

 If there is any animal sound in the Northern wilderness 

 that can be easily imitated, it is the whistle of the marmot, 

 and I thought that my whistle was a perfect reproduction 

 of the original. But when I gave it the sheep at once 

 threw up their heads and looked. After a few moments 

 they began to feed. Not fifty yards to my right a marmot 

 again whistled. They were utterly indifferent. But at 



