THE COUNTRY OF THE BLACK SHEEP 



257 



covering we used, and we made many 

 camps at timber line when winter had 

 set its iron hand on the land and the 

 mountains turned white in a night. I 

 have known men to carry sleeping-bags 

 that were a good one-man pack, when 

 an eight-pound blanket was all they 

 needed. 



We traveled light, as we occasionally 

 had to pack all our own duffle. Each 

 man had two blankets and cover, one 

 mosquito tent, two suits of under- 

 clothes, one extra flannel shirt, mocca- 

 sins, shoes, one pair of extra trousers, 

 three pairs of socks, towel, tobacco (in 

 plugs) and a sewing kit. 



This outfit, including a rifle, weighed 

 about fifty pounds. 



We used the 30-40 Winchester rifle, 

 box magazine, and of the thirty and 

 more big game animals hit we lost none. 



On July 2 1 st we started for the Chee- 

 onee Mountains. As the sheep skins 

 were not at their best, we busied our- 

 selves with small mammals, and many a 

 pleasant day I had stalking the hoary 

 marmots among the rugged rock slides. 



On this trip we experienced the hor- 

 rors of the Alaska mosquito pest. We 

 were carrying heavy packs and there 

 was. no trail. For two days we stag- 

 gered uphill with the July sun on our 

 backs. The mosquitoes rose in black 

 clouds and our faces ran blood. All 

 the wild life had fled to the high coun- 

 try, and, save for the hum of the insects 

 — like the low tones of a mighty organ 

 — the silence of death was on the land. 

 We carried the scars of that trip until 

 winter drove us to the sea. But one of 

 the joys of a wilderness life is that all 

 its hardships come to an end ; then fol- 

 lows a season of fatness. Once at tim- 

 ber line we entered paradise — the land 

 of sheep, moose, and crystal waters. 



While in the Cheeonees we killed a 

 young Stonei ram for meat, and al- 

 though it was early in the season, the 

 flesh was good. 



On leaving the Stikine we traveled 

 north for a number of days. We were 

 starting on a long trip and used our 

 four pack animals. In traveling we ar- 



ranged the packs systematically, so that 

 we should know exactly what each horse 

 had on his back. Moony, the mule, car- 

 ried our flies, axes, and the "kitchen," 

 a box filled with eating and cooking 

 utensils. Kid, a buckskin cayuse, car- 

 ried our personal duffle and ammuni- 

 tion. The other horses packed our 

 grub. On the Little Thaltan River we 

 killed a timber wolf that ventured with- 

 in a few feet in pursuit of a dog. 



When we were lucky we made seven- 

 teen miles a day, and in less than a week 

 we struck the Chesly River. We were 

 now on the Taku head-waters. 



Far to the westward, hanging in the 

 sky, was a line of snow-capped peaks 

 unnamed and unknown. We made in- 

 quiries concerning the mountains of 

 some natives who were catching salmon 

 for dog feed. None of them had ever 

 been there, and even the old men knew 

 nothing about the range. We found, 

 however, that there was a blazed trail 

 that had not been traveled for years 

 leading to the moose country between 

 us and the mountains, and an Indian 

 volunteered to start us. 



We also discovered that the moun- 

 tains were called Tsi Tshethla by the 

 natives ; Tsi meaning red, and Tshethla 

 mountain. I will not vouch for my 

 spelling of the Indian words. 



In the heart of every hunter a great 

 longing springs up at the sight of a dis- 

 tant mountain range. When you stand 

 in a wild country, looking at a jagged 

 line of unknown peaks, cut like steel 

 against the sky, the desire to go to them 

 is well-nigh irresistible. The sunlight 

 glinting on the glaciers forty miles 

 away stirs you with its promise of 

 sunny valleys, green grass, and spark- 

 ling streams. The next morning we 

 swam the horses across the Chesly and 

 headed for the mountains. 



For a few days we had trouble. The 

 dim axe marks led us uphill through 

 a rough country. Down timber, bogs, 

 and wasps gave us plenty of exercise. 

 I know no more exasperating sight than 

 a pack train in fallen timber with a 

 healthy swarm of yellow jackets work- 



