July, 1918 
401 
FOREST A N I) S T R E A M 
one of its hind quarters which looked 
like the one Mackay had wounded 
over in Benjamin Creek basin. If 
he really was the one, he had fully 
recovered as his actions attested by 
his extreme agility in getting out of 
range of the hunters. 
Walter and Tom were back in 
camp, having made the trip to Skilak 
Lake and back in two days. Walt 
had prepared a fine sheep mulligan 
in celebration of our last night 
among the peaks. We sought our 
hemlock boughs a little later than 
usual, but were soon asleep and the 
quiet darkness brooded over the 
wilderness. 
The morning of our last day in 
the sheep country broke with ruddy 
glow. Swiftly the shadows fled 
from alder thicket and the night 
mist rolled aloft. As I went down 
to the little lake to wash I felt the 
sting of frost in the air; soon all 
this wide expanse would be covered 
with its mantle of white and the 
long Arctic winter would tighten the 
streams and ponds in a relentless 
grip. What would then become of 
the sheep I wondered; driven to the 
high peaks for protection from so 
many enemies, they must surely de¬ 
scend when winter’s icy blasts sweep across 
their chosen range. As I looked up the long 
barren slopes stretching around me, I noticed 
little dots of white moving slowly, stirring 
to the call of day, safe at least for another 
season from their arch enemy, man. The 
wheels of chance had turned for them and 
six of their number had paid the toll of 
fate; the ones that remained moved silently 
among their accustomed peaks, leading 
their wild untrammeled life high above all 
the congestion of the world. 
The whole setting had been wonder¬ 
ful. There in a natural amphitheatre 
among the mist shrouded peaks, lit 
by the magic light of the sun, which 
seemed to shine through the clouds 
down upon that one spot, in close 
resemblance to the stage lights in 
a theatre, was enacted the time hon¬ 
ored drama of the chase; truly de¬ 
picting man’s instinct to creep upon 
and capture the wild creatures of 
the lonely places of the earth. 
W E crossed a steep snow gla¬ 
cier, digging our heels into 
the hard crust to keep from 
slipping, up over the ridge to the 
Benjamin Creek basin, and ate our 
lunch near a little stream of water 
that trickled down from a snow 
patch far above. As we sat there 
smoking afterwards, I counted 
troops of sheep on the mountains 
round about. In one flock we 
counted as many as thirty-five, most¬ 
ly ewes and lambs, and one black 
bear moving among the alders about 
timber line on the mountain across 
the valley. As we stumbled down 
into the little valley where our camp 
was situated I realized that it 
would probably be my last trip 
down the trail we had passed so many- 
pleasant hours on and I looked back re¬ 
luctantly on the little bit of meadow land 
I had come to know so well. Each morn¬ 
ing it had greeted us with fresh beautyq 
a happy resting place before we started 
on the long, hard climb above; but the 
great charm of the wilderness is that it 
ever beckons us to new adventures, and 
nature is so lavish with her beauty there 
is no room for regret. 
We were soon in camp and a happy time 
Mackay and his magnificent second ram 
we had of it that night, laughing and 
joking about the fire, every one in rare 
good humor over the success of the trip. 
We measured the head of Mackay’s last 
ram and it proved to have the widest spread 
of an\ r in our collection. It spread twenty- 
two inches between points with a base of 
thirteen and a half, and a circumference 
of thirty-five inches. The body of the ram 
showed no wound of any kind, but as they 
were returning to camp they saw a ram 
with a great spot of congealed blood on 
The massive horns of the six rams that paid the toll of fate; note the difference in convolution and corrugation of the horns 
