the precaution to travel with his face in the wind. 

 He could see toward every point of the compass. 

 He was ambling easily along, but I knew that his 

 senses were wide awake that his sentinel nose 

 never slept and that his ears never ceased to hear. 

 Climbing to the very summit of a snow-covered 

 ridge, he lay down with his back to the wind. Evi- 

 dently he depended upon the wind to carry the 

 warning scent of any danger behind him, while he 

 was on the lookout for anything in front of him. 

 Nothing could approach nearer than half a mile 

 without his knowing it. He looked this way and 

 that. After only a short rest he arose and started 

 on again. : 



I hoped that some time I should be able to pho- 

 tograph Old Timberline at twenty-five or thirty 

 feet. But at all times, too, I was more eager to 

 watch him, to see what he was eating, where he 

 went, and what he did. I was constantly trying to 

 get as close as possible. Of course I had ever to 

 keep in mind that he must not see, hear, nor scent 

 me. I had to be particularly careful to prevent his 

 scenting me. Often in hastening to reach a point of 

 vantage I had to stop, note the topography, and 

 change my direction, because a wind-current up an 



