June, 1919 
FOREST AND STREAM 
267 
that after slowing regaining a standing 
position he made no effort to climb the 
mountain. When last we saw them his 
opponent was making off with the Lady 
Love and he was still unmoved. Brains 
had won the battle, although I have often 
questioned if a sheep had brains. 
I N five minutes we were at the moun- 
tain top which from below appeared 
as a point, but which when reached 
was not smaller than a good sized farm. 
While I rested to regain my breath and 
steady my nerves for shooting, Erickson 
stealthily advanced to reconnoitre. He 
returned presently with the information 
that no sheep were in sight below. We 
then circled first to the right and then to 
the left ever keeping a sharp look out be- 
low, but there was nothing doing. As we 
could observe for miles the mountains to 
our rear we could not believe that the 
rams had got past us, but we were un- 
able to account for their disappearance. 
Thinking that they might be sleeping 
in the sun, below one of the numerous 
shoulders of the mountain, I stepped for- 
ward to the edge and fired three shots 
from my young mountain cannon. The 
echoes sounded and resounded so that it 
seemed as if no living thing for miles 
could have failed to have taken notice. 
We waited twenty minutes, but all was 
still as death, except for the call of 
raven or two w’hich at the sound of the 
hunter’s gun is always soon present to 
participate at the feast. The wind was 
blowing across the ice and snow and to 
my body scarcely covered with sweaty 
clothes it did not seem like the gentle 
breezes of summer. 
Discouraged and non-plussed we start- 
ed by a shorter cut for the bottom of 
the gorge where my extra clothes were 
left and had gone about half way down 
when suddenly I looked to one side across 
a small ravine and there huddled in a 
frightened manner under a cliff of rock 
scarcely one hundred yards away was a 
flock of eight or ten ewes and lambs. 
Not a ram in the lot! Again I had 
spent a half day stalking game I did not 
want. Erickson was for taking a little 
mutton back with us, but when I told 
him that our camp needed no meat and 
that I would not be a party to a killing 
he let them go in peace. Our caravan 
arrived before dark and my evening re- 
port, though interesting, was to me un- 
satisfactory. In fact, I was almost dis- 
couraged and not until the second day 
thereafter when I killed the Monarch of 
Mike, Fritz and Kate 
Sheep Lick Mountain did my courage and 
confidence fully came back to me. 
O UR party spent the next two days 
on a side trip to Sheep Lick in dem- 
onstrating the incorrectness of 
some of Erickson’s well-intentioned ad- 
vice as to the location of moose, but im- 
mediately upon our return we left our 
friend and his cabin for the game fields 
of Western Yukon. The prospector led 
us up on the hills that lay in the rear of 
his little mountain home and with an in- 
definite wave of the hand said, “The 
trail leads off there. After you have 
gone fifteen miles you will strike the ford 
in the Generc.” It was raining slowly 
as we started, but by the time we had 
made three or four miles the sky was 
clear, but not so the trail for in the shift- 
ing sand of that rolling elevated plateau 
the least signs of former travel could 
not be found. 
It was often difficult for our two wran- 
glers to keep sixteen pack horses con- 
stantly moving in single file for one was 
compelled to lead and the other follow 
the rear of the line. It, therefore, often 
fell to the lot of the hunters as well as to 
our guide and cook to travel in the train. 
In the far North the customary way of 
keeping the train moving is to twist the 
tail of the nearest horse, hurl rocks at 
the next one or two and profanity at the 
others. Our wranglers knew their busi- 
ness and were possessed of a strong and 
extensive vocabulary. As we started 
that moring I fell in between Cyclone 
and Dynamite to expedite a little the 
progress of our outfit. My position was 
not so perilous as the names of the horses 
would indicate. 
We had not proceeded far when a call 
of “Caribou! caribou!” came down the 
line. Looking to my right I beheld my 
first band of caribou. There were only 
four or five in the company, which was 
lead by a young bull whose horns were 
hardly larger than those of the cows with 
whom he was associating. The sight 
sent a thrill through my whole system for 
they were traveling along the top of a 
range of ground swells which silhouetted 
their bodies against the sky line in a most 
picturesque manner. The fact that most 
impressed me was the rapidity with which 
they travelled by their easy rangey trot. 
A few minutes later my bunk partner, 
Hon. Joseph Browder, of Fulton, Ken- 
tucky, came riding back on little Billi- 
kens and said, “Lee, we are in a good 
game country. Jump on this horse and 
ride in advance, you are liable to get a 
shot.” Such is the generous courtesy 
which, with whiskey, fast horses and 
beautiful women, has made Kentucky fa- 
mous among her sister states. I cantered 
a half mile ahead where I found my 
Nashville friends, William T. Young and 
Arthur J. Dyer. The former comes to 
the call of “Bull Moose Bill’ and the lat- 
ter to that of “Grizzly Jim.” 
I T was but a few minutes after I joined 
the advance guard that we observed a 
half mile to our right another band of 
caribou. It was a fair-sized herd, but 
after looking it over carefully .through 
our glasses we were about to decide that 
there were no bulls in it with horns that 
would justify a killing, when I observed 
following along in their rear, but quite 
apart from the rest, an enormous bull 
with horns that far surpassed the others. 
My companions, who had come three 
thousand miles in search of game and 
one of whom had never killed a caribou, 
then turned to me and said, “Lee, it is 
your turn, you do the stalking and we 
from this ridge here will take the moving 
picture.” “Bill” finally decided to accom- 
pany me to render any assistance that 
might prove to be necessary, so while the 
entire caravan of six men, sixteen horses 
and three dogs drew up on the ridge to 
act as our gallery “Bill” and I began the 
interesting stalk. 
Beween us and the big bull lay two 
sand ridges or ground swells three to 
(CONTINUED ON PAGE 318 ) 
A herd of caribou was just topping the range, silhoutted against the skyline, with an enormous bull following in the 
rea: 
