690 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[May 6, ign. 
seen nothing in the way of big game. As I 
crossed the rock slides the little coneys, inter¬ 
rupted in their hay making, darted into their 
holes with their funny little squeak. A marmot 
now and then gave the wild folk notice of my 
coming by his penetrating whistle. Twice I 
ran across flocks of white-tail ptarmigan, some 
of them showing almost half white. 1 hey were 
not so fearless as the foolhen, but still were not 
wild, and it would have been an easy matter to 
have killed nearly the whole of them with 
stones. The old ones led off their flocks, clearly 
showing their uneasiness and yet with an air 
of dignity, and they reminded me of nothing so 
much as an old turkey hen. If I got too near, 
the old mother gave a peculiar cluck and the 
little ones immediately froze, just where they 
were, in a most captivating manner. So perfect 
was the color mimicry that actually they al¬ 
most disappeared from sight while in plain 
view. What a morning I had alone in the 
heights! The peaceful, abiding joy of such a 
tramp cannot be told in words, but the heart 
strings of those who can comprehend will catch 
the vibration. 
I was on the east side of the divide, and had 
almost reached the top of a ridge or spur run¬ 
ning off at right angles to the main divide. As 
I approached the sky line I dropped to my 
hands and knees and slowly worked my way up, 
pausing as I gained altitude to closely scan the 
new ground brought into view. A final crawl, 
and as I slowly raised my head the whole side 
of the ridge lay in view. So carefully and 
noiselessly had I worked up, that the last 
stage brought my head above the sky line 
easily, and in a manner not likely to pro¬ 
duce startling results. My heart fair’y stopped 
beating. 
Just over the brow of the ridge was quite a 
depression, and in this a huge snow bank, and 
this snow bank seemed to be literally covered 
with goats, lying down. Breathlessly I counted 
them—seventeen. The nearest was not over 
thirty feet from me and the furthest not over 
sixty. These figures are not guess work, as 1 
afterward verified them by stepping. The goats 
were so close under the top of the ridge that 
I did not see them nor they me until my final 
movement brought my head above the sky line. 
I scarcely breathed. Instantly about half of 
them were on their feet, but the rest did not 
get up. Those which got up started away, took 
a few steps and stopped, gazing in wonder at 
the apparition which had risen so ghost-like on 
the sky line. Nine of them were nannies and 
the rest half-grown kids. The kids which had 
risen were rather more nervous than their 
mothers; the latter stood perfectly still, except 
that occasionally they impatiently pawed the 
snow. 
I have no desire to appear in the nature 
faker class, and I do not know whether goats 
are cud-chewing animals or not. I do know 
that the goats which were down soon com¬ 
menced chewing exactly as though they were 
chewing cuds and they kept it up. exactly like 
an old cow. 
Finding that I was harmless, most of the 
goats which had risen, lay down, one after an¬ 
other, and resumed their midday rest until 
finally all were down except one old nanny, who 
could not quite bring berself to trust me com¬ 
pletely, though she showed no great nervous¬ 
ness, but now and then pawed the snow. ■ I 
noted that the little fellows were chewing 
exactly like the old ones. 
How long I remained just as I was when I 
first saw the goats I hardly know, but it seemed 
a long time. At last I grew tired and slowly 
pulled myself into a sitting position. I sup¬ 
posed at the first movement they would all be 
off, but not one went. There was a little un¬ 
easiness, but that was all. After a time I took 
my lunch from my hunting coat pocket and pro¬ 
ceeded to eat it. I never enjoyed a lunch more 
than that one. I ate and was almost through 
when suddenly, without any apparent cause, the 
whole bunch leaped to their feet and started 
off down the side of the ridge on the run. I 
have no idea what started them unless they 
winded me. Be that as it may, they raced off 
and were out of sight over a nearby ledge. I 
remained seated, finishing my lunch. 
Soon seven reappeared from almost the exact 
spot where they had gone over and ran quarter¬ 
ing across to the left until they came to a snow 
bank which lay plastered up against the side 
of the main ridge. This they crossed diagonal¬ 
ly, coming out near the top of the divide, over 
which they went and were out of sight for good. 
This last snow bank was so steep that had any 
one told me that a goat could cross it from 
bottom to top, I would not have believed it 
possible. It was almost straight up and down; 
yet those goats crossed it in a smart walk, 
never pausing, with never a slip nor a sign of 
uncertainty, as easily as though they were on 
level ground. I rubbed my eyes, almost con¬ 
vinced that I was dreaming, but I saw them do 
it, and after I had finished lunch, I walked over 
to the point where they had struck the bank 
and looked at their tracks up and across that 
nearly perpendicular bank. From that day to 
this I have never ceased to wonder at the feat, 
done so easily, by such a big-limbed animal as 
a mountain goat. 
That was enough for one day. It was an ex¬ 
perience that conies to a man only once in a 
lifetime. With my repeating rifle I could prob¬ 
ably have killed several of them. Who would 
trade such an experience for a dead goat? 
THE TOP RAIL. 
A controversy concerning water finders, in the 
London Field, proves one thing—that believers 
and skeptics are all capable of locating pen and 
ink, if not water. An Australian says he paid a 
diviner $500 to fix on twenty sites, each said to 
bear water within 300 feet of the surface, below 
which distance the diviner claimed his influence 
did not extend. The owner removed two of his 
$25 markers and began to dig. All told he venti¬ 
lated his property to the extent of 1,366 feet, 
and, encouraged because all the digging was dry, 
now proposes to continue for 1,000 yards, if 
necessary, evidently to get his money’s worth. 
If he will then drop the diviner in the shaft, 
perhaps that worthy will revise his opinions as 
to moisture. 
Another writer proposes a novel test for 
“dowsers,” or water witches. He says he knows 
of a place where water is conveyed for a dis¬ 
tance of twenty-seven miles in large underground 
pipes, up hill and down. He offers to ramble 
over this section, crossing and recrossing the 
hidden pipes, in company with any dowser pos¬ 
sessing the courage, whose guesses can readily 
be checked on engineers’ maps or by anyone 
familiar with the location of the pipes and 
siphons. 
* * * 
Years ago every man who hunted game near 
the Mexican border was in constant dread lest 
he fall into one of the many prospect holes that 
honeycombed the lead and copper-bearing hills. 
1 have seen these shafts in places where it was 
popularly believed no white man had ever been 
before, the comparative freshness of the earth 
and stone thrown out disproving this belief, and 
the drill marks and camp signs showing that the 
early American prospectors did not advertise 
their whereabouts. In some places where men 
or animals failed to put in an appearance at cus¬ 
tomary times it was thought they might be wait¬ 
ing at the bottom of some hole for their friends 
to haul them out. Frequently the holes were 
shallow, extending to bed rock only, but others 
were deeper than Bill Nye's gold mine, over the 
rim of which he said he could still see the hat 
of his Hibernian helper, although the depres¬ 
sion made by the latter in the earth’s surface 
had cost several burro loads of grub and much 
of the humorist's cash. 
In one of the little ’dobe flats a diviner had 
“located a fine vein of water,” and the man who 
paid the bill employed two Mexicans to dig, at 
so much per foot of depth. Gleefully these men 
performed their task, for the digging was 
through soft earth, and when next the owner 
visited them they were seventy feet down and 
going strong through dry sand. They did not 
want to stop, but when at last persuaded to do 
so left the wide hole totally unprotected. I had 
passed near it many times before I noticed the 
trap, which was beside one of the many game 
trails. 
A short distance away there was an out¬ 
cropping of lava, and in this lava there were, 
numerous deep fissures. At one place there came 
from a great fissure the far away sound of water 
running as through a gorge. Geologists main¬ 
tained that a great underground river crossed 
the country near there, and we of that locality 
always believed that the sounds we heard when 
the air was calm came from that river. But if 
so the diviner’s “influence” was not so persuasive 
as his “gift of gab.” 
* * * 
The coachman, says R. B. Marston, is a jolly 
good fly. I sometimes tie it with landrail wing 
or a light starling wing, and used in varying 
sizes it will kill, as Mr. Plumley says, “all the 
time”—he used it wet, I use it dry. Coachmen 
get wet at times, but I never knew one who was 
not always “dry.” 
The coachman always reminds me of the old 
story which I have often told in the Fishing 
Gazette of the London angler who was invited 
to fish on a friend’s trout water near London. 
He was sent off to a good stretch of the water, 
his host going up stream. At the end of the 
day the host, who had not done any good, met 
his friend, beaming and with a heavy creel. 
“What did you get them with?” said the host. 
“Coachman.” 
“Coachman!” said the host in disgust. “Why, 
that’s the wrong fly!” 
Grizzly King. 
