SPORT IN THE GOLD RANGE 



We were forcing our way through the thick brush along the 

 top of the cliffs in order to secure a closer shot at these animals 

 when I almost stumbled over an old billy, which had been 

 sunning itself on the edge of the precipice. Without a sound, 

 but with a startled look in its black eyes, it lurched to its feet 

 from the bushes in front, and disappeared over the rim of the 

 rocks before I could cock the rifle in my hands. Following 

 it down a steep chute as quickly as possible for about fifteen 

 yards, I stopped in a narrow 

 goat-trail which wound around 

 the- face of the cliffs. Through 

 the branches of a clump of stunt- 

 ed spruces which grew almost 

 horizontally from the rocks about 

 forty yards distant, I was able 

 to discern portions of the white 

 coat of the goat as it gazed 

 back along the trail, watching 

 me. At the report of the rifle 

 it pitched out from the shelter 

 of the trees, and, rolling over 

 and over in struggling to gain 

 its footing, disappeared over a 

 ledge one hundred feet down the 



cliffs. We cautiously lowered ourselves to where we had last 

 seen it, but one look down into the chasm into which it had 

 fallen persuaded us that it had chosen a last resting-place 

 which would probably have cost us our lives or limbs to dis- 

 cover. 



Following the goat-path along the top of the cliffs, when we 

 rounded a shoulder of the mountain several hundred yards 

 farther along, we saw six goats which had evidently been 

 alarmed by the rifle-shots, and were travelling in single file along 

 a ledge two hundred yards below. In what might have been 



245 



BRITISH COLUMBIA BLACKTAIL- 

 DEER HEAD 



