IN THE BIG HORN MOUNTAINS. 95 



where he had again stopped to take breath. From this point 

 a repetition of the long jumps showed that he had again 

 taken alarm at the sound of my coming and skipped out. 



Now more thoroughly alarmed than ever, and convinced 

 that desperate measures were necessary in order to elude me, 

 he changed his course to the westward and started for a great 

 canyon that opened near the top of the range. He plunged 

 wildly forward through sage-brush, greasewood, scrub-pine 

 thickets, heavy pine forests through windfalls and over 

 rocky barrens until he reached the verge of the north wall 

 of the canyon, where he paused to see if I were coming 

 before taking the plunge. His inquiry was soon answered, 

 for, hearing me- approaching, he wheeled and leaped down 

 the almost perpendicular wall at such a reckless rate of speed 

 that he lost his footing at the very start and rolled and tum- 

 bled fifty feet through the brush before he could recover. 



When I reached the spot from whence my quarry had 

 taken this fearful leap I paused and debated in my mind 

 whether I should risk my life by following him into this 

 awful abyss. The wall was so nearly perpendicular that I 

 conld and did reach out and break off a twig from the top of 

 a pine-tree forty feet high, and which stood that distance 

 below me on the side of the wall. I looked into the bottom 

 of the canyon and my brain reeled as I thought of the 

 danger and the folly of trying to descend into it. It was 

 2,000 feet deep if it was a foot, and large trees that stood at 

 the base of either wall looked from where I stood like mere 

 saplings. Rocks that I knew would weigh many tons looked 

 like boulders such as we often see built into fences or stone 

 walls. The rapid mountain stream that plunged through the 

 canyon looked to be a mere rill. 



But why parley? My game has gone down this wall, and 

 while I stand here querying whether it is possible to follow 



