320 BIG GAME FIELDS 



of grouse and ptarmigan and said unhesitatingly 

 they wanted "big meat." 



Up on the mountains the storm had been rag- 

 ing all day and the hammering gale drove the 

 sleet in our faces that cut like bits of steel. On 

 two Indian ponies Mac and I were slowly toiling 

 up the crest of a high peak. The Indian rode 

 ahead bare-back, grave and stolid, for he was too 

 proud to use a saddle like the pale-face. Slowly 

 mounting the steep slopes Mac would sometimes 

 stop, shade his eyes and peer below through the 

 sea of driving white flakes. What a wonderful 

 picture he made as his dim outline loomed dark 

 against the veiled background. He wore no hat, 

 but in its stead an olive green bandana tied about 

 his thick black hair, knotted at the top so that the 

 ends stood up and looked in the vague light like 

 the old-time two-feather headdress of his fore- 

 fathers. Every move and pose was typical of his 

 race. 



Near the top under the lea of some great bare 

 rocks we dismounted, made a little fire, for wood 

 was scarce up there, and partook of a rather late 

 and frugal lunch. The frantic gale fairly 

 screeched over our heads and went wailing and 

 moaning on its way. Then finally it seemed to 

 have done its worst and blown itself out. There 



