American Big-Game Hunting 



played us the fiddle, and would have had us 

 sleep inside), arrived bag and baggage the 

 fourth day from the railroad at the forks of 

 the Methow River — the next tributary of the 

 Columbia below the Okanagon. 



Here was a smiling country, winning the 

 heart at sight. An ample beauty was over 

 everything Nature had accomplished in this 

 place; the pleasant trees and clear course of 

 the stream, a fertile soil on the levels, the 

 slopes of the foot-hills varied and gentle, un- 

 encumbered by woods, the purple cloak of for- 

 est above these on the mountains, and rising 

 from the valley's head a crown of white, clean 

 frozen peaks. These are known to some as 

 the Isabella Range and Mount Gardner, 

 though the maps do not name them. More- 

 over, I heard that now I was within twenty- 

 five miles of goats; and definite ridges were 

 pointed out as the promised land. 



Many things were said to me, first and last. 

 I remember a ragged old trapper, lately come 

 over the mountains from the Skagit River. 

 Goats, did I say ? On top there the goats 

 had tangled your feet walking in the trail. 

 He had shot two in camp for staring at him. 



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