THE BIGHORN IN THE SNOW 77 



summits would indicate that they find a lower 

 death rate and more comfort here than they 

 could find in the lowlands. 



The morning I started across Sawtooth Pass 

 the snow was deep. A gray sky and a few 

 lazily falling snowflakes indicated that it might 

 be deepened. And soon the flakes were falling 

 fast and the wind was howling. Only between 

 gusts could I see. But on I went, for it was 

 easier to advance than to retreat. 



I passed over the summit only to find the wind 

 roaring wildly on the other side. Abandoning 

 the course of the snow-buried trail, I went with 

 the wind, being extremely careful to keep my- 

 self under control lest the breezes boost me over 

 an unexpected cliff. The temperature was a 

 trifle below zero, and I watched nose, fingers, 

 and cheeks to keep them from freezing. 



Two violent gusts drove me to shelter be- 

 neath a shelving rock. After half a minute a 

 long lull came and the air cleared of snow dust. 

 There within thirty feet of me were a number 

 of mountain sheep. Two were grazing in a space 

 swept bare by the wind. Another was lying 

 down, not in shelter, but out in an exposed 

 place. 



Then I caught sight of two lambs and I failed 

 to see what the other sheep were doing. Those 

 lambs! They were in a place where the wind 



