IN THE ALASKA-YUKON GAMELANDS 



have ever seen, reminding us somewhat of a 

 musk-ox in appearance at the distance seen. 

 From concealed positions behind our horses we 

 watched the little procession as it moved slowly 

 toward us, then turned and walked over a rise 

 out of sight. There were no obstructions of any 

 sort to interfere with vision, for we were on the 

 grassy slopes above the timberline. These sheep 

 (or at least the old leader — for the ones in the 

 rear are not so apt to be wary) simply had relaxed 

 into a thoughtless state, just the same as some 

 people do who, in crossing a street, suddenly 

 butt into a street car or an automobile before 

 being brought to. I am satisfied that if I should 

 be permitted to go on a hundred sheep hunts 

 and bag my game on each trip, I would never 

 again encounter an experience with wild sheep 

 like this one. If I had been a novice at the time 

 I might have returned to civilization with some 

 very startling disclosures regarding the tameness 

 of the big-horn. 



I have been able to frighten ewes and lambs 

 from a hillside half a mile away, with no other 

 demonstration than quietly walking by; and yet 

 I thumped a pebble from my thumb against a 

 ewe's back ten yards away — and even then Ned 

 Frost waved his coat almost in her face before 

 she arose and skipped off with her lamb. 



I have ridden a horse up to where a ram could 

 almost jump off a cliff and alight on me while he 

 stood watching us trail along up the gulch; in 



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