A NOVEL GOAT HUNT. 



O. ]). noon. 



On September 22cl, 1895, while I was su- 

 perintendent of the Abbott group of silver 

 mines, in the Trout lake mining district of 

 British Columbia, I took part in one of 

 the most exciting goat hunts imaginable. 

 That morning I went, with my brother 

 Will, and Andrea Provost, to put some tim- 

 bers in a tunnel that needed shoring. With 

 us went our dogs, Tuck, a large black and 

 white collie, and Sport, a brown retriever. 

 We entered the tunnel, leaving the dogs 

 outside on the dump. 



While we were at work, old Tuck saw a 

 goat coming down the mountain side, fully 

 1,500 feet above the tunnel. He remained 

 quiet until the animal reached the bottom 

 of the gulch, then both dogs went after it. 

 Fresh snow, a foot in depth, lay on the 

 ground, so they were able to keep their 

 quarry busy and prevent him from leaving 

 the gulch. 



Their barking brought the men out from 

 the tunnel to see what was going on. Be- 

 lieving the dogs were after a bear, they 

 called me and yelled to the men at camp to 

 bring the gun. The only gun in camp be- 

 longed to Mr. Malson, our hunter, and he 

 was away with it at the time. I ran up the 

 gulch until I saw the goat. Returning, I 

 told my brother and Provost to get their 

 axes and keep above the old fellow, while 

 I ran back for our camp ax. 



After fighting the dogs for half an hour, 



in the gulch, the goat got on a small ridge 

 or hog-back. There he cleared a small 

 spot, by trampling down the snow, and 

 stood his ground. Will got on one side of 

 him, Provost on the other. Tuck snapped 

 at his hind quarters, while Sport, in front, 

 tried in vain for a throat hold. I stood be- 

 iOw in the gulch, to prevent the possible 

 escape of our prisoner in that direction. 

 Seeing the dogs could do nothing with 

 him, the men attempted to settle the matter 

 with their 2> l A pound pole-axes. They 

 struck him at least 20 times, on the head, 

 without knocking him down. At last Will 

 aimed a vicious blow, but the goat moving 

 suddenly, he missed his aim and the ax 

 flew from his hand. As a result he lost his 

 balance and fell squarely upon his intended 

 victim. Provost in turn, threw himself on 

 the struggling heap, and the 2 men man- 

 aged to hold the animal until I cut his 

 throat. 



We dragged the carcass to camp, skinned 

 and dressed it. It weighed, dressed, 225 

 pounds. We did not stretch the hide, but 

 cut it nearly square. Dried, it measures 5 

 feet 8 inches by 6 feet 4 inches. I still have 

 it. When Malson came in that night, 

 without any game, he had to admit we were 

 the boss hunters of those parts. I shall 

 never forget the hour's sport we had with 

 that goat, nor the grand pot pies we made 

 of him. 



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WHAT DO YOU CALL THEM? See page 459. 

 437 



