Nov. 4, 1911] 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
675 
through the pass, with directions to meet us 
later on at some point which he and Jack agreed 
upon after much gesticulation and drawing of 
maps in the sand, and mixture of Chinook jargon 
and Lilooet talk. 
We climbed up out of the pass southerly on to 
the top of the range lying along the easterly side 
of the valley, a right stiff climb into the cold 
fog and snow. Muscles working smoothly and 
lungs expanding delightfully, all soreness gone 
now after our ten days’ hard training. We 
found the tracks of two mighty rams along the 
cold top of this range, and trailed them for sev¬ 
eral miles out on to a blue glacier, which we 
crossed into a country all cut up with little cross 
canons, steep patches of slide rock and small 
frozen fields of snow. 
While pausing for one of our periodical peeks 
over the ridges with our glasses we discovered 
a ewe and lamb grazing on a little green patch 
of moss at the edge of a small glacier, just at 
the head of a deep canon. They were about 
1,000 yards away, and with the powerful glasses 
could be seen perfectly. This was the first ewe 
and lamb I had ever seen, and I was most in¬ 
terested in watching them. The ewes of the 
mountain sheep have horns, but unlike the mas¬ 
sive curled battering rams which adorn the heads 
of the male sheep, their horns are sharp and 
pointed like those of the goat, and I should think 
would make a very effective weapon against 
the eagles and cats which prey upon spring 
lambs. 
All the afternoon we climbed through this 
country, and for about an hour and a half 
traveled along the side of a steep sliding moun¬ 
tain, at every footstep sliding down in the loose 
shale until my left hip, which was on the up¬ 
hill side, was all wrenched out of place and T 
began to feel like one of the side-hill deer about 
which Western cowboys are so fond of telling 
the tenderfeet. These side-hill deer, it seems, 
are accustomed to travel along the mountainside 
so much that the legs on one side of their bodies 
grow longer than on the other side, and the best 
way to hunt them is to get in front of them and 
get them turned around, when they immediately 
fall down the mountain. This “nature story” is 
particularly interesting to English sportsmen who 
are said always to receive it with exclamations 
of the greatest astonishment, and to declare that 
it is “really most extraordinary, don’t you know.” 
I judge that the side-hill deer must be a near 
relative of the side-hill winder and the swamp 
sogun. The former is said to frequent Alaska, 
and tales of the latter are often encountered in 
the backwoods of Maine. 
Just at dusk we descended this last mountain 
into a deep valley, at the base of which Napoleon 
and the horses were found, and after a long ride 
through Osborn’s Pass and down across Jack’s 
valley again returned to camp so tired that we 
could hardly do more than fall off the horses. 
Toil, toil, toil; unremitting, unrelenting, unend¬ 
ing, but unrequited. To-night, however, we are 
not too tired to eat, and our venison stew is 
surely good. 
Sept. 10.—It snowed last night, and this morn¬ 
ing a beautiful thin white veil covers the black 
face of Jack’s Mountain, making it look like a 
negro bride. Weather clearing away. The Can¬ 
ada jays are swarming about camp, attracted by 
our venison, and several of them spend a large 
part of their time trying to get away with a 
deer’s tail which Doctor has nailed to a log. 
Little flurries of snow all day, with flashes of 
sunshine and blue sky between. W’e stay in camp 
mending gloves and moccasins, pouring tallow 
into the shoepacks, and reading Kipling and 
Stevenson by the camp-fire, while the ribs of 
venison roast in the grate. It seems almost like 
Thanksgiving day. 
Jack, who is shuffling around in the slush do¬ 
ing odd jobs, remarks that his “wet feet make 
his nose run.” He and Napoleon s'ashed down 
a lot of pines in a little grove back of camp and 
made a corral for confining our riding horses 
the evening before, so that we may be able to 
PROPERLY EQUIPPED FOR SHEEP HUNTING. 
Heavy, soft ankle shoes, double socks, puttees, loose 
woolen knickerbockers; leather shirt worn outside and 
belted; woolen cap, rifle with sling strap. 
make early morning starts without stopping to 
hunt the horses up first. “Buck” has apparently 
jumped the country, for Napoleon, after days of 
tracking, has been unable to find him. A day in 
camp does seem good for a change. We are now 
all trained down to hard work early and late, 
eat heartily and sleep soundly, everyone in per¬ 
fect health, and living is a joy. Nose bleeding, 
lip peeling and sunburn all over. 
Late in the afternoon Jack shod up our rid¬ 
ing horses, commenting on their condition mean¬ 
while. Said lie: “It's funny t’ing how some 
horse is all time come off his shoe. Now, dat 
Johnny is got ’m strong feet; he’s not come off 
his shoe. He’s good horse, dat Johnny; got ’m 
strong breath, too, for climb glacier.” 
Sept. 11.-—Jack and I decided to have one more 
good look at the benches on the easterly side of 
the mountain, while Napoleon spent the day on 
a last long hunt for Buck. About half way up 
the benches we struck the track of a three-year- 
old ram, which after an hour or so .we got a. 
quick glimpse of as he passed off the bench 
around the back end of the mountain, making for 
the pass. We climbed up across the mountain 
and the pass, striking his trail, which we fol¬ 
lowed for a couple of hours into a tangle of 
snow fields and glaciers which grew more and 
more dangerous, and finally encountering a heavy 
squall of snow, we concluded to abandon him. 
Turning back, we started down across Jack’s 
Glacier in a fearful blizzard, not without some 
anxiety, for the glacier had softened a good deal 
and was cracking; Jack in the lead, glacier rope 
around his waist, I twenty feet behind him with 
a tight hold of it, we went on the run, taking 
long swinging strides down through the soft snow 
when suddenly Jack disappeared up to his arm- 
pits in a transverse crack covered with snow. 
Fortunately it only accommodated his body, and 
his arms stuck on the sides, but it emphasized 
his wisdom in taking the glacier rope along. 
As we swung around off the glacier on to the 
grassy rolling slopes in the head of our valley 
an immense body of rock high up on the cliffs, 
loosened by frost, fell away and came crashing 
down across the face of the mountain with tre¬ 
mendous noises, like the thunder of heavy artil¬ 
lery. We were possibly a mile distant, and stood 
watching the splendid sight, fascinated. The 
force of the first shock loosened other smaller 
blocks of loose cliff on the way down, which 
afterward fell from time to time for fully half 
an hour, going off like the rattle of musketry 
and throwing up little clouds of smoke-like dust, 
so that the whole spectacle resembled what I 
imagine must have been the picture of the battle 
of Lookout Mountain as presented to the eye 
of a spectator in the valley at Chattanooga. 
In the afternoon there appeared in camp a 
young Indian lad, Jack’s brother-in-law, the 
youngest son of old Tyee Jimmy, chief of the 
Lilooet tribe. He was a fine, handsome, straight- 
limbed lad, neatly gotten up, and chatted and 
smoked with us cheerfully for an hour or so. 
We learned from him that Tyee Jimmy and two 
Philadelphia sportsmen had bagged a pair of 
fine rams near Chilco Lake, about four days 
travel northwest of our camp; that his party 
were now camped ten miles down Big Creek, on 
their way down into the goat country near Stick 
Lake. 
About 5 o’clock Napoleon came into camp, 
back from his horse hunting, looking very tired. 
In characteristic Indian fashion he came quietly 
up to the fire, saying: “Klahowa,” squatted on 
his haunches, lit a cigarette, and began to sip a 
cup of tea. Thus he sat for about an hour, 
occasionally pushing a log into the fire or re¬ 
marking upon the weather, apparently oblivious 
that anyone should have the slightest curiosity 
as to whether he had found Buck or not. At 
the end of an hour he remarked, as if it had just 
occurred to him : “Buck’s gone to town.” “Gone 
to town” meant a trip of 200 miles to Lilooet, 
through an unmapped wilderness, across fields 
of snow and mountain torrents, through deep 
canons and vast forests. We found subse¬ 
quently, however, that Napoleon had diagnosed 
Buck’s intentions correctly, and when we ar¬ 
rived at Lilooet weeks later, one of the first 
sounds we heard was Buck’s whinny from the 
corral as we trotted past. 
[to be continued.] 
