80 A TRAMP IN THE CATSKILLS 



wished to return, I would fire it twice, they of course 

 responding. 



So, filling my canteen from the spring, I set out 

 again, taking the spring run for my guide. Before I 

 had followed it two hundred yards it sank into the 

 ground at my feet. I had half a mind to be supersti- 

 tious and to believe that we were under a spell, since 

 our guides played us such tricks. However, I deter- 

 mined to put the matter to a further test, and struck 

 out boldly to the left. This seemed to be the keyword, 

 to the left, to the left. The fog had now lifted, so 

 that I could form a better idea of the lay of the land. 

 Twice I looked down the steep sides of the mountain, 

 sorely tempted to risk a plunge. Still I hesitated and 

 kept along on the brink. As I stood on a rock deliber- 

 ating, I heard a crackling of the brush, like the tread 

 of some large game, on a plateau below me. Suspecting 

 the truth of the case, I moved stealthily down, and 

 found a herd of young cattle leisurely browsing. We 

 had several times crossed their trail, and had seen that 

 morning a level, grassy place on the top of the moun- 

 tain, where they had passed the night. Instead of being 

 frightened, as I had expected, they seemed greatly 

 delighted, and gathered around me as if to inquire 

 the tidings from the outer world, perhaps the quo- 

 tations of the cattle market. They came up to me, and 

 eagerly licked my hand, clothes, and gun. Salt was 

 what they were after, and they were ready to swallow 

 anything that contained the smallest percentage of it. 

 They were mostly yearlings and as sleek as moles. 

 They had a very gamy look. We were afterwards told 

 that, in the spring, the farmers round about turn into 

 these woods their young cattle, which do not come out 



