Clitnhing /or White Goats 



tions — we had felt no pity when the 

 bullets struck it. A moment more, and 

 it had reached the brink and disappeared, 

 and still I waited and watched, listening 

 and looking for I knew not what, half 

 fascinated by the pitifulness of the sight ; 

 and then, half a mile down the valley, I 

 saw floating along on the wings of the 

 gale a tuft of white hair as large as my 

 hand, torn from its hide by some crag 

 against which it struck as it whirled 

 down into the abyss. 



But the killing of the game is a mere 

 incident of this climbing for goats. The 

 perfect freedom of the mountain life is 

 one of its greatest charms, but far beyond 

 that is the joy which comes of the sur- 

 roundings. The lofty mountains uplift 

 the soul, and one lives in a mental atmos- 

 phere above that of his every-day life. By 

 night he sleeps beneath the wind-swept 

 pines which sigh his lullaby ; by day he 

 pushes his way far above timber line over 

 the naked rocks and among the crags. 

 His companions are the changeless peaks, 

 the far-reaching snow-fields, and the blue 

 ice rivers. The voices that speak to him 

 are the hoarse brawling of the mountain 

 torrents, the shrill scream of the winds 

 throwing themselves against the peaks, 

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