OCTOBER, 1917 
FOREST AND STREAM 
459 
game. We had before this made out three 
distinct bunches of goats, but now the 
glasses told us they were nothing to brag 
about—there was not among them the big 
buster of a Rocky Mountain sticking-plaster 
I had come for. After we had combed the 
heights for a spell, Billy gave a gasp and 
exclaimed, “Great grandfather’s whiskers!” 
“Well,” says I, “wot’s the excitement?” “I 
see,” says Billy slowly, “the biggest, ole he- 
goat that ever dim a mountain!” “Gimme 
his latitude and longitude,” says I, “and I’ll 
look him over.” “I can make ’im out with 
Below the narrow shelf along which we crept 
there were 500 feet of sheer Eternity 
the naked eye,” says Billy; “foller my fin¬ 
ger,” and he pointed. Easily a mile in an 
airline from us on a 45-degree slant I 
made out a little, white dot. Then I 
glued the glasses on Mister Goat and he 
was some William. 
My powerful Goerz seemed to bring him 
close to the teepee. There he stood in all 
his immaculate glory on the point of a jut¬ 
ting spur overlooking the Canyon—a mas¬ 
sive cream-colored monarch of the heights 
with the glint of the sun on his ebony 
horns. He was alone and was keeping a 
solitary vigil on the floor of the Canyon 
and all approaches to his eyrie. “Gee, ain’t 
he a peach!” says I. “He’s a ole hermit 
goat,” says Billy, “and the biggest one I 
ever see. We’ve sure got to get that Will¬ 
iam.” “Yeh,” says I, “we’ve got to get 
’im, but how’re we gonna do it? We ain’t 
got no airship and plumb forgot to bring 
along a steeple-jack outfit. Lookey where 
that goat’s roostin’, Billy!—right against a 
solid wall of rock. If his foot slipped 
he’d fall five hundred feet before he struck 
bottom and the wall runs straight up above 
’im higher’n that! Personally I don’t see 
how the durned ole fool ever got where he 
is and personally I don’t think he’ll ever 
get out of there—until he grows wings!” 
“Aw, shucks!” says Billy, then he resumed 
his glasses. “Look, Newt,” he says after a 
little spell; “off to the east of where that 
goat stands is a draw we can shin up. 
From the head of that draw there’s got to 
be some way to reach the ole geezer. What 
say?” “Us for the goat then,” says I. 
We traveled light, taking off everything 
above our belts except our undershirts. 
Billy carried lunch for two. I lugged my 
rifle (with a strap to give me both hands 
free) and that was all. Before starting we 
took another look at the goat and while we 
watched, he walked a few steps and lay 
down. “Good boy,” says Billy; “now if he 
only stays put he’s our meat.” Then we 
started. 
I’m not gonna dwell on how much ener¬ 
gy, breath and perspiration I expended be¬ 
fore we reached the top of the draw. It 
wasn’t so bad until we passed timberline 
and struck the slide-rock. After that the 
ascent lacked only 10 per cent, of being per¬ 
pendicular ! Oh, well—possibly the grade 
was only 75 percent, but dawg-gawned if 
I’ll come down another per cent.! I hung 
on by my toenails, eyebrows and dewclaws 
—and I nearly turned my lungs inside-out 
tryin’ to get my breath. But at last we 
made the head of the draw and climbing to 
its rim peeped over. 
About a quarter-mile from us to west¬ 
ward lay the goat where we had last seen 
him. Apparently he had not moved—had 
not seen, heard, nor winded us. Lying 
there with just our eyes and stone-colored 
Stetsons showing above the edge, we took 
our bearings. From the head of the draw 
there was a narrow shelf leading along the 
face of the rock-wall toward the goat. 
Once over the rim we saw that shelf could 
be followed (provided it was negotiable!) 
without the goat seeing us until we got to 
a bulge in the wall about 100 yards from 
him. Cautiously we wormed over the rim 
and slid down out of sight. Then we 
started a perilous journey along the shelf. 
Say, jevver pussy-foot it along the 
ragged edge of nothin’ at all with 500 feet 
of sheer air over the edge? My mouth was 
full of heart and the cold ooze stood out 
on my alabaster brow, I’ll tell you those! 
A mis-step and!—well, a bit of pulp on the 
rocks below, that’s all. I went first be¬ 
cause I had the rifle—there was no room 
on that shelf to pass. I flattened myself 
against the wall and moved slowly side- 
When we arrived at the shelf, the big white 
goat had mysteriously vanished 
wise, like a crab. Finally we reached the 
bulge where the goat should be visible for 
a shot, but he wasn’t in sight! “That’s 
funny,” whispers Billy; “guess he’s moved 
back into a pocket—giddap!” Then we 
watched our step again until we reached 
the very jutting spur where the goat had 
been lying. 
He was not there! 
The spur and the widening of the rock- 
shelf behind it were empty and that wasn’t 
all: beyond the spur in the direction we 
had been coming the shelf vanished—the 
rock-wall became sheer—there was not 
enough horizontal surface against it for a 
fly to walk on. Above our heads was 
straight wall—below our toes an abyss. 
We had not met the goat on our path, yet 
that was the only way he could have 
escaped! We stood there looking about 
us with bugging eyes and mouths agape. 
“Well?” says I in my regular speaking 
voice. “Don’t that beat-! (what Sher¬ 
man said war is) says Billy. 
“Maybe he jumped off,” says I. “Jumped 
off nothin’!” scorns Billy. “Goats ain’t 
doin’ that this season. I tell you that goat’s 
here somewhere.” “You cheerful ijj it,” 
says I; “if he was here we could see ’im, 
couldn’t we? This place aint no bigger’n 
a hall-room and that big goat ain’t invis¬ 
ible ! Billy, are you sure you saw a goat 
here in the first place?” “Saw ’im!” flares 
Billy. “A guide ought to have a license 
to push a sport off a place like this for 
askin’ a fool question like that! Sure I 
saw ’im! Didn’t you see ’im?” “Well, 
, I thought I saw ’im,” says I, “but any¬ 
body’s liable to be mistaken. If we saw 
’im here, then he’s here now and since he 
ain’t here now, why then we didn’t see 
’im, that’s all. P’raps it was an optical 
illusion.” “Optical -!” (what Sherman 
said war is again) snorts Billy in disgust. 
“Well,” I snaps back, “if that goat’s here, 
go ahead and find ’im—I didn’t lose any 
goat in the first place—probably you’re 
standin’ on ’im.” 
After we had eaten lunch we hove a 
couple of man-sized sighs and started back 
the perilous way we had come. We were 
half way to camp when Billy says, “Did 
you look back when we crossed the rim 
of the draw to see if he was still there?” 
“I did not,” says I; “he wasn’t there when 
we left, so he couldn’t have been there 
then.” We were within sight of the teepee 
before we could again see the spur—then 
we looked back. 
STANDING WHERE WE HAD 
FIRST DISCOVERED HIM WAS THE 
BIG, WHITE GOAT! 
Flabbergasted and speechless we fo¬ 
cused our glasses on him. Suddenly Billy 
broke forth in a line of language which 
made me feel I knew nothing at all about 
the blasphemous art of expression! After 
he was thru I couldn’t think of a word to 
add! 
That night beside the teepee fire I says, 
“Billy, how did this Canyon ever get the. 
name of Hoodoo?” “Cornered goat 
charged a sport and pushed him off a rock- 
shelf in here about ten years ago,” says 
Billy. “Kill ’im?” “Kill ’im!—yeh, and 
the goat, too,” says Billy; “they both fell 
hundreds of feet before they lit.” “Umh,” 
umhs I: “pretty sizable goat, was it?” 
“Big, ole William, so they say,” answers 
Billy. “Just whereabouts in this Canyon 
did that happen ?” I goes qn. “I dunno 
exactly,” says Billy; “up around where we 
dim today, I guess—why?” “Bill,” says 
I, “there’s something very pecooliar about 
that goat disappearing. Something almost 
soopernatural. I honestly believe, ole 
scout, that wot we saw was a GHOST- 
GOAT !” 
When I suggested to Billy that we taw a 
ghost-goat he scoffed and jeered 
