THE ROCKY MOUNTAIN GOAT. 



361 



ing night are creeping higher and higher up the opposite 

 slope. She stretches her great length on the heather- 

 covered ground, and placing her head between her paws, 

 quietly watches the playful frolics of her three ciibs. Hark! 

 What is that? Only a whistle; but it comes from the lips 

 of a human being, and, as if seized with the dread of some 

 terrible danger, she raises her head, turns it in the direc- 

 tion of the sound, when the object for which that whistle 

 was given is attained, and the next instant a bullet from a 

 Winchester rifle crashes through her skull. She springs to 

 her feet, and uttering the most piteous wail I ever heard 

 from the lips of human or beast, drops dead among her 

 cubs, which a moment after share the fate of their mother. 



