XII 



The Game of the High Peaks: The Wihte Goat 



"Vs^^X 



N the fall of 1886 I went far west to the Rockies 

 and took a fortnight's hunting trip among the 

 northern spurs of the Coeur d'Alene, between 

 the towns of Heron and Horseplains in Mon- 

 tana. There are many kinds of game to be 

 found in the least known or still untrodden 

 parts of this wooded mountain wilderness — 

 caribou, elk, ungainly moose with great 

 shovel horns, cougars, and bears. But I 

 did not have time to go deeply into the 

 heart of the forest-clad ranges, and devoted 

 my entire energies to the chase of but one 

 animal, the white antelope-goat, then the 

 least known and rarest of all American game. 



We started from one of those most dismal and forlorn of all places, a 

 dead mining town, on the line of the Northern Pacific Railroad. My fore- 

 man, Merrifield, was with me, and for guide I took a tall, lithe, happy- 

 go-lucky mountaineer, who, like so many of the restless frontier race, was 

 born in Missouri. Our outfit was simple, as we carried only blankets, a 

 light wagon sheet, the ever-present camera, flour, bacon, salt, sugar, and 

 coffee : canned goods are very unhandy to pack about on horseback. Our 

 rifles and ammunition, with the few cooking-utensils and a book or two, 

 completed the list. Four solemn ponies and a ridiculous little mule named 

 Walla Walla bore us and our belongings. The Missourian was an expert 

 packer, versed in the mysteries of the " diamond hitch," the only arrange- 

 ment of the ropes that will insure a load staying in its place. Driving a 

 pack train through the wooded paths and up the mountain passes that we 



