MAMMALS OF UTAH 29 



informant being G. C. Goddard, and in 1896 D. Arrow- 

 smith reported a band at Willard in the Wasatch mountains. 



Habits — It is said that the task of Sisyphus in the 

 world of shades is to roll a huge stone to the top of a 

 hill and fix it there despite its irresistible tendency to 

 bound down again each time the feat is seemingly accom- 

 plished. It is just so in hunting the mountain sheep, whose 

 head is usually the most valued prize among the trophies 

 of the American hunter's den: mountains of irksome and 

 dangerous acclivity must be scaled; narrow, crumbling 

 ledges ribboning cliffs of dizzy heights must be traversed ; 

 and all of the comforts of camp must be left with the 

 horses in the timber line far below. 



The females of all wild sheep wear horns, though 

 smaller than those of the bucks. The flesh of all varieties 

 of mountain sheep, is so delicious as to afford a real stimu- 

 lus to the hunter. 



During the winter the bighorns, young and old, mingle 

 in bands in their favorite localities. Bleak winds and driv- 

 ing snow do not worry them for their warm coats are so 

 closely matted that only the indifferent protection of a 

 cliff is sought during the worst storm. They live so high, 

 indeed, that every blast serves only to denude everything 

 of snow ; but should a mantle of whiteness remain, the re- 

 sourceful sheep paws in precisely the right place until the 

 delicate green appears. After exceedingly heavy snows this 

 species Avill at times go down to the timber. 



When a blizzard is raging over every ridge, the sheep 

 huddle side by side, the little fellows crouching low be- 

 tween the adults. Old males at such times become restless 

 and prowl about, nibbling indifferently. Sometimes, how- 

 ever, the entire band is snowed under in a cave; but even 

 then the stout old males work a way out with their horns. 



As the warm rays of the spring sun fill every living 

 thing with new vigor, the rams wander away alone into the 

 tiny meadow-oases, midst the rugged cliffs of the higher 

 mountains. Here at the very foot of eternal snow the big- 

 horn lives a peaceful life. By the middle of July the old coat 

 has been shed for a new and by the last of September the 

 lonely ram is as fat as butter. As the chill blasts come he 

 once more joins the family herd on the hillside below, tak- 

 ing but cursory interest in the stout, frolicsome lambs. 



