486 
FOREST AND STREAM 
OCTOBER, 1917 
Let Us Tan Your Hide. 
And let us do your head mounting, rug, robe, coat, 
and glove making. You never lose anything and gen¬ 
erally gain by dealing direct with headquarters. 
We tan deer skins with hair on for rugs, or trophies, 
yr dress them into buckskin glove leather. Bear, dog. 
calf, cow, horse or any other kind of hide or skin 
tanned with the hair or fur on, and finished soft 
light, odorless, moth proof and made up into rugs, 
gloves, caps, men's and women’s garments when so 
ordered. 
Get our Illustrated catalog which gives prices of tan¬ 
ning, taxidermy and head mounting. Also prices of 
fur goods and big mounted game heads we sell. 
THE CROSBY FRISIAN FUR COMPANY 
Rochester, N. Y. 
Log Cabins 
and Cottages 
(Sixth Edition) 
How to Build and Furnish them 
By 
WILLIAM S. WICKS 
The most popular book on the 
subject ever written. Full explana¬ 
tions how to build cabins of all 
sizes with directions and numerous 
illustrations. Everything from a 
shack to the most pretentious Adi¬ 
rondack structure, is included. 
Pictures and plans of fireplaces; 
how to build chimneys; rustic stair¬ 
ways, etc. 
PRICE, $1.50 
FOREST AND STREAM 
Publishing Company 
9 East 40th Street New York City 
GHOST-GOAT OF HOODOO CANYON 
By NEWTON NEWKIRK 
(continued from page 459) 
At first Billy laughed until I hoped he 
would bust a lung, then he scoffed; in the 
end he got mad and dove into his blankets 
in disgust. “You can hoot all you want 
to,” says I, “but my ghost-goat theory is 
better’n any you’ve got. If there are gen¬ 
tlemen and lady ghosts, why shouldn’t 
there be ghost-goats? How else can you 
account for that goat disappearin’ ? I’m 
While Billy nugged the cleft I held the 
rifle on the big fellow’s chest and pulled 
ready to believe anything in this durned 
Hoodoo Canyon. Wot we saw today was 
prob’ly the ghost of the goat that bumped 
that poor guy off the mountain. Don’t 
that sound reasonable?” 
Billy’s only answer to my argument was 
a 32 h.p., snore. Then I also bunked up. 
Next morning when we crawled out of 
the teepee, the high-up spur was bare— 
there was no goat on it. “He’s gone down 
to timberline to browse,” says Billy. 
“Browse!” sneers I; “you British Col¬ 
umbia nut!—a ghost-goat don’t browse !” 
“I s’pose,” snickers Billy, “a ghost-goat 
browses on the soopernacheral!” Then we 
both mixed it again on ghosts and spirit¬ 
ualism. After returning from a trip down 
the Canyon for some trout to add to the 
breakfast menu we got another surprise: 
There was the same old goat back on the 
spur! 
“By cripes,” cusses Billy, “we’ll git that 
goat this time, or bust!” I confess I didn’t 
have much stomach for that climb a second 
time, but I wasn’t gonna quit, so after 
breakfast we started. I will spare the do¬ 
cile reader a painful repetition of the hor¬ 
rible details of -the ascent. Suffice to say 
when we again wormed our way over the 
rim at the head of the draw the goat was 
still in statu quo. But after our perilous 
crawl along the rock-shelf and our arrival 
at the bulge in the wall where we would 
be within range—there was no goat in 
sight! Billy was grim and peevish. “Push 
on,” was his only remark. “Yeh,” says 
I, “push on, but no push-off stuff!—don’t 
crowd me!” 
As I expected, we found the spur and 
the widening shelf empty. “Now wot do 
you say?” I asks triumphantly; “is it a 
goat, or a ghost, hey?” Billy didn’t an¬ 
swer. After a rest he began to examine 
our little perch foot by foot, part of the 
time on his hands and knees. I sat back 
pulling on my pipe and watching him. 
“Ha!” he suddenly exclaimed straightening 
and examining a fissure in the wall at the 
base of the shelf. “Wot?” says I. “Hairs,” 
says Billy, “and hoof-scratches on the 
rocks!” “You don’t mean he dim up that 
crack?” says I rubbering. “No,” says 
Billy, “I don’t mean it, but he must of 
done it. I’ll soon find out.” 
With that he squeezed himself into the 
cleft and began to climb. It was hard 
work for Billy—how in heaven’s name 
could a goat do it! Rocks dislodged by 
Billy came clattering down and bounced 
off the shelf into space. Billy had scram¬ 
bled up perhaps 10 feet. Suddenly about 20 
feet above him over the edge of what must 
have been a pocket in the wall was thrust 
the head and shoulders of a monstrous 
goat! 
Pushed to his last niche he showed him¬ 
self and was facing the music! There 
was battle in his blazing eyes. He was 
harkening to the steady ascent of Billy 
who could not see him. 
“I see ’im!” I says softly to Billy; 
“I’m gonna shoot! Hold fast!” At the 
sound of my voice the old bewhiskered pa¬ 
triarch transferred his baleful glare to me 
and stamped viciously with a black hoof on 
the edge of his perch. Let ’im have it!” 
Heavy dotted line shows course followed 
by wounded goat on his first bounce 
says Billy snuggling close in his hole. Lin¬ 
ing the sights full on his chest, I pulled! 
Some goats with good heads are accom¬ 
modating—when they are plugged in a vital 
spot they curl up and expire quietly, even 
tho there is little more than room enough 
to do it. Instead of slumping decently back 
