Life in the Open 



cheek by jowl with a mountain lion, and I spent much 

 time in watching both. The result of my observation 

 led me to believe that in a fair fight the ram would win, 

 but if it were a case of sneaking up in the dark, or 

 crawling over a cliff to drop on the game unawares, 

 the mountain lion would be the winner. The bighorn 

 certainly scented the lion, as it appeared to be in a con- 

 stant " state of mind," which was evinced by occasionally 

 backing off and striking the corral on the mountain lion 

 side with a force suggestive of sudden death and the 

 breaking in of ribs. 



What a splendid animal he was, and what a coward 

 was the mountain lion ! Yet I may do the latter in- 

 justice, though he started as though he had been hit 

 whenever the ram struck his partition and jarred the 

 very earth. 



A fine animal is the mountain sheep. He is wild 

 and loves the wild places. His home is on the lofty, 

 wind-swept crags of high mountains. As I write, I can 

 look over the tops of palms and orange trees in my 

 garden and see his home the bare, pallid rocks that 

 form the summit of San Antonio, two miles or more 

 above the sea. The gentle wind in the valley of the 

 San Gabriel is barely sufficient to arouse the music of 

 the pine needles, yet up the north slope of San Antonio 

 I can sometimes see a mass of snow rolling on, like a 

 great white diaphanous cloud, that rises higher and 

 higher, a wraith of the mountains, telling of the rigours 

 of winter in this home of the mountain sheep. 



