126 THE WILDERNESS HUNTER. 



was almost all that redeemed a hunt in the 

 Rockies from failure. I was high among the 

 mountains at the time, but was dogged by ill 

 luck; I had seen but little, and I had not shot 

 very well. One morning I rose early, and 

 hunted steadily until midday without seeing 

 anything. A mountain hunter was with me. 

 At noon we sat down to rest, and look over 

 the country, from behind a shield of dwarf 

 evergreens, on the brink of a mighty chasm. 

 The rocks fell downwards in huge cliffs, stern 

 and barren ; from far below rose the strangled 

 roaring of the torrent, as the foaming masses 

 of green and white water churned round the 

 boulders in the stream bed. Except this 

 humming of the wild water, and the soughing 

 of the pines, there was no sound. We were 

 sitting on a kind of jutting promontory of rock 

 so that we could scan the cliffs far and near. 

 First I took the glasses and scrutinized the 

 ground almost rod by rod, for nearly half an 

 hour ; then my companion took them in turn. 

 It is very hard to make out game, especially 

 when lying down, and still ; and it is curious 

 to notice how, after fruitlessly scanning a 

 country through the glasses for a considerable 

 period, a herd of animals will suddenly appear 

 in the field of vision as if by magic. In this 

 case, while my companion held the glasses for 

 the second time, a slight motion caught his 

 eye; and looking attentively he made out, 

 five or six hundred yards distant, a mountain 

 ram lying among some loose rocks and small 

 bushes at the head of a little grassy cove or 

 nook, in a shallow break between two walls of 

 the cliff. So well did the bluish gray of its 



