HUNTING THE WHITE SHEEP IN ALASKA, 



15 



up over the crest from the South a rampant 

 old buck, making the snow fly as he 

 chugged along. Had a brick wall loomed 

 up ahead the old ram would have charged 

 it, and, in all probability, gone over it, too, 

 so terrified was he by the jumping, grind- 

 ing boulders. Ping, bang, ping! It was Bat- 

 terman shooting. A bullet ploughed up the 

 snow at my feet, another struck ker-spat on 

 a nearby boulder, another one sang a 

 wicked p-e-i-e-u overhead. He wasn't ex- 

 cited. Oh, no! Batterman never gets ex- 

 cited. He isn't the excitable kind, you 

 know. At his fourth shot old One-Ear 

 suddenly gave a tremendous "Wugh!" 

 jumped about 3 feet high, dropped his rifle, 

 and began clawing the air in his frantic 

 endeavors to keep pace with his cap, 



which sailed off over the crest in com- 

 pany with the old ram. When One-Ear 

 got back with it his headgear had a hole in 

 it about as big as — well, say a billiard ball. 



Just how many bighorn were disturbed 

 by the rock-rolling Indian method that day 

 I cannot say. At any rate they came thick 

 and fast, and it was chug, chug, bang, 

 bang! for over 20 minutes. Had any 

 chance goldseeker happened along he 

 would no doubt have mistaken the fusilade 

 up in the clouds for a rapid fire gun. 



Result of the day's shooting: If you will 

 go down to 40-Mile and look inside of 

 a certain log cabin on the bank of the 

 river you will see 8 pairs of gigantic horns 

 nailed to the wall. 



amateur pmoio by f. e. mathewson. 



JACK O' LANTERN TIME. 



