340 BIG GAME FIELDS 



hammering gale drove in the cold and played 

 weird music as it swooped on down the lonely 

 mountainside. On two horses Mac and I decided 

 to face the storm and hunt, spite of it all. There 

 was really very little use in venturing out while 

 the storm continued, for it was impossible to see 

 much over a Eundred yards through the whirling 

 flakes, while the footprints of the wild dwellers 

 were quickly sealed with the white covering. 

 Mac, however, never wanted to remain about 

 camp when it was possible to be out and doing. 



Stolidly we skirted the mountain above timber 

 line, and save for the scuttling away of a few 

 ptarmigan now and again, and the whining of the 

 gale, there was neither sign nor sound of a living 

 thing. Death seemed the only inhabitant of those 

 limitless, desolate expanses. No less awful than 

 the weird moaning of the wind was the unspeak- 

 able stillness that shut down when it ceased. It 

 was near noon when we stopped in the shelter of 

 a cluster of stunted firs, where we managed to 

 kindle a little fire and eat an all too scanty lunch- 

 eon. The wind veered round to the west and the 

 sky grew a little brighter, but still fine crystalline 

 flakes volleyed through the air. 



Continuing on around the upper edge of the 

 mountain we came on to a number of unmistak- 



