THE BIGHORN IN THE SNOW 77 
summits would indicate that they find a lower 
death rate and more comfort here than they 
could find in the lowlands. 
The morning I started across Sawtooth Pass 
the snow was deep. A gray sky and a few 
lazily falling snowflakes indicated that it might 
be deepened. And soon the flakes were falling 
fast and the wind was howling. Only between 
gusts could I see. But on I went, for it was 
easier to advance than to retreat. 
I passed over the summit only to find the wind 
roaring wildly on the other side. Abandoning 
the course of the snow-buried trail, I went with 
the wind, being extremely careful to keep my- 
self under control lest the breezes boost me over 
an unexpected cliff. The temperature was a 
trifle below zero, and I watched nose, fingers, 
and cheeks to keep them from freezing. 
Two violent gusts drove me to shelter be- 
neath a shelving rock. After half a minute a 
long lull came and the air cleared of snow dust. 
There within thirty feet of me were a number 
of mountain sheep. Two were grazing in a space 
swept bare by the wind. Another was lying 
down, not in shelter, but out in an exposed 
place. 
Then I caught sight of two lambs and I failed 
to see what the other sheep were doing. Those 
lambs! They were in a place where the wind 
