HUNTING THE ROCKY MOUNTAIN GOAT.
There is, perhaps, no large mammal in this country of which the
scientific world and the reading public in general knows so little as of
the Rocky Mountain goat (_Aplocerus Montanus_). There are several
reasons for this. First, its limited range. It is confined to a small
area of the Rocky Mountains, principally west of the main divide; to
Western Montana, Eastern Idaho, the Cascade Range in Washington
Territory, a small portion of British Columbia, and to Alaska. Secondly,
its habitat is the tops or near the tops of the highest and most rugged
peaks and cliffs, where none but the hardiest and most daring hunter may
venture in pursuit of it, and so comparatively very few are ever killed
and brought into the settlements. Third, it can not be successfully
domesticated. Its favorite food is so different from that generally
growing in or near any settlement, the atmosphere it breathes, the mean
temperature in which it lives, and the ground, or rather rocks, on which
it is accustomed to walk, so widely different from those surrounding any
human habitation, that the few young that have been captured and
brought down to the settlements have soon died. So that none of them are
found in parks and zoological gardens, as are specimens of nearly all
other large wild animals.
There are fewer mounted skins of this animal in Eastern museums than of
any other species indigenous to this country, and hence the public and
naturalists have had fewer opportunities to study and become familiar
with it than with other wild mammals. Yet it is one of the most
beautiful and interesting of all our American quadrupeds, and probably
no sportsman or naturalist has ever yet mustered courage and hardihood
enough to go where he could kill a Rocky Mountain goat without feeling
amply repaid for all the labor and hardship encountered by being able to
behold this mystic creature in his lofty mountain home. In view of the
limited facilities people have had for studying this animal a somewhat
minute description of it may not be amiss here.
In size it is but a trifle larger than the Merino sheep, which, in fact,
it closely resembles in many respects. The form of its body is robust,
fore parts rather thicker than hinder parts, with a slight hump over
shoulders, similar to that of the American bison. Its color is entirely
white, or, in some instances, of a light creamy shade. Hair long and
pendant. A beard-like tuft of hair on the chin. Long coarse hair, more
abundant, on shoulders, neck, and back. Under and intermixed with this
long hair there is a close coat of fine, silky, white wool, equal in
fineness to that of the Cashmere goat. Hair on face and legs short and
without wool. Horns (which are present in both sexes) jet black, small,
conical, nearly erect, polished, and curving slightly backward; ringed
or wrinkled at the base, much like those of the chamois. Muzzle and
hoofs also black. False or accessory hoofs present. Dentition: Incisors,
8 lower; canines, none; molars, 12 upper, 12 lower; total 32. The
mountain goat brings forth two or three young at a time, usually late in
May or early in June. Slightly gregarious, being frequently found in
small bands in winter, but in summer season not more than a single
family is usually seen together, and in summer and fall the older males
may frequently be found entirely alone. The nose is nearly straight,
ears rather long, pointed, and lined with long hair. Tail six to eight
inches long, clothed with long hair. Legs thick and short. Hoofs grooved
on sole and provided with a thick spongy mass of cartilage in centre,
projecting below the outer edges of hoof, enabling the animal to cling
firmly to steep or smooth rocks. The dimensions of one adult male
specimen measured are as follows: Length from tip of nose to root of
tail, 3 feet 7 inches; length of tail, 7 inches; length of head, 11-3/4
inches; length of horns, 8-1/2 inches; diameter of horns at base, 1
inch. Its estimated gross weight is 130 pounds.
The food of the mountain goat consists principally, in summer, of the
leaves of the alder and of various mountain shrubs, and in winter of
mosses and lichens that grow on the rocks.
_Aplocerus Montanus_ is much more closely allied to the antelope than to
the domestic goat, and has few characteristics in common with the
latter genus. He is an agile, fearless climber, and appears to delight
in scaling the tallest, grandest, and most rugged crags and cliffs to be
found in the ranges which he inhabits, not so much in quest of his
favorite food, for this grows abundantly lower down, but apparently from
a mere spirit of daring; from a desire to breathe the rarest and purest
atmosphere obtainable, and to view the grandest scenery under the sun
without having his vision in the least obstructed by intervening
objects. These forbidding and almost inaccessible crags are the
favorite, and nearly the exclusive, haunts of this strange creature, and
the hunter who follows it thither must indeed be a daring mountaineer.
The goat is frequently found at altitudes of 10,000 to 14,000 feet,
where the atmosphere is so rare as to render it difficult indeed for man
to climb, yet this fearless creature nimbly leaps from crag to crag,
over deep yawning chasms, with no more fear than the domestic lamb feels
when bounding over the greensward in an Eastern farmyard.
The hunter literally takes his life in his hand when pursuing the goat,
for he must pass over many places where a misstep or a slip of a few
inches would plunge him over a precipice, where he would fall thousands
of feet, or be hurled into some narrow and deep fissure in the rocks
whence escape would be impossible.
Over such rugged and perilous ground he may climb, hour after hour,
until he has passed the highest ranges of the elk, the mountain sheep,
and all the other game, for the mountain goat, "the American chamois,"
as he has been aptly termed, ranges higher than any of them. He may
toil on until he is far above timber line, and is working his way over
and around vast drifts and beds of perpetual snow and ice. Finally he
sights his game--a fine handsome specimen--standing fearlessly on some
jutting crag, deliberately feeding on some tender lichens or, perhaps,
peering proudly out over the lower world. The hunter now changes his
course until he can conceal himself behind some neighboring rock, and
then crawls stealthily and cautiously up to within rifle range of the
game. Then, peering cautiously from behind his cover, he takes careful
aim and fires. He is a dead shot and the rifle ball pierces the heart of
the quarry, but to his dismay it makes a convulsive bound and down it
goes over the precipice, rebounding from crag to crag, until it finally
reaches a resting place hundreds of feet below. It may go to where he
can never reach it, or may land where he can recover it on his return
down the mountain side; but if the latter, it may be torn to fragments
and scattered here and there until the hide is useless, the horns are
broken off, the skull crushed so that the head is unfit to mount, and
the flesh so bruised and mangled that he can scarcely save enough of it
to make him a dinner.
A few years ago an officer of the United States army and a party of
friends were hunting goats in the Bitter Root Mountains, near Missoula,
Mont. They followed two--a male and female--to the top of a rough and
dangerous peak, when the game, before they could get a shot at it,
started down the opposite side and took refuge from the hunters under a
shelving rock. Here it was, owing to the nature of the rocks and ice,
absolutely impossible for the hunters to follow them on foot, but the
intrepid officer, not to be baffled in the pursuit, tied a long rope
securely around his body, just under his arms, laid down, and grasping
his rifle slid quietly down, on a bed of ice, some sixty or seventy
feet, while his companions held on to the other end of the rope and
controlled his perilous descent. Finally, when he had gone far enough to
be able to see the game, he signaled his friends, who stopped him, and
raising on his elbows he fired and killed both goats, and was then drawn
up again in safety. Such, however, was the nature of the rocks between
him and the carcasses that it was utterly impossible to reach them after
he had killed them, and he was compelled reluctantly to abandon them.
Several members of the party tried to reach them from other points, but
were unable to do so, and they were all obliged to return empty-handed
to camp.
In another instance this same officer, upon crawling out on the edge of
a shelving rock and looking down over a precipice hundreds of feet
below, saw two goats near the base, but they were actually inside of a
perpendicular line running down from the edge of the rock he occupied,
and he was therefore unable to bring his rifle to bear upon them without
projecting his body out over the edge of the rock further than was safe.
After discussing the matter for some minutes, one of his friends offered
to hold his feet and thus enable him to extend his head and shoulders
far enough out to get his aim. By this means both of the goats were
killed, but a party had to go around and ascend the mountain from the
other side in order to secure them.
The same party, while climbing the rugged and almost perpendicular face
of Little Mountain to bring down some goats they had already killed,
came suddenly upon a large buck in a narrow V-shaped fissure in the
rock, from which there was no escape but by the opening at which they
had entered, and across this they formed a skirmish line. The goat
climbed upon a narrow projection on one of the walls of the fissure just
out of reach of the tallest man in the party, and as they had no rifles
with them (having left them below to lighten the labor of the ascent),
they tried to dislodge him by throwing rocks at him, but their footing
was so insecure and there was such great danger of their falling that
they could not hurl these with sufficient force to bring him down though
several of them hit him. If they had had a rope they could easily have
lassoed him, but there was no such thing at hand. They finally decided
to leave one of the men to guard their prisoner, and on their return to
camp another man took a rifle, went back, killed the goat, and the two
bore him triumphantly down to camp. The gentleman says: "Had I not been
an eye witness, and had I subsequently been shown the place where the
goat stood thus at bay, I could scarcely have believed it possible for
anything larger than a fly to have found footing there."
Fortunately, however, the successful hunting of the goat is not always
thus perilous, for though he habitually selects for his home the
roughest and most inaccessible peaks to be found in the mountains, yet
he sometimes ranges on more favorable ground, and if the sportsman be so
fortunate as to find him there he may be killed and saved. They range
somewhat lower in winter than in summer, but never even then venture
down into the canyons or valleys, as do all the other large mountain
animals. They only come down upon the lower peaks and ridges, and remain
about the rocky walls, which are so precipitous that the snow can not
lie on them to any considerable depth. Their power of climbing over and
walking on these almost perpendicular rock walls is utterly astounding.
They will walk along the side of an upright projecting ledge that towers
hundreds of feet above and below them where a shelf projects not more
than four or five inches wide. They will climb straight up an almost
perpendicular wall, if only slightly rough and irregular, so that they
can get a chance to hold on with their spongy hoofs here and there. And
they seem to select these difficult passes in many instances when a
good, easy passage could be had to the place to which they are bound by
going a little further around. They seem to delight in scaling a
dangerous cliff as a courageous boy does in climbing the tallest tree. I
once saw where a goat had walked straight up over a smooth flat slab of
granite ten feet wide, that laid at an angle of about fifty degrees, and
that was covered with about two inches of wet snow and slush. I could
not climb up it with moccasins on my feet, and no dog could have
followed him there. This faculty is accounted for by the peculiar shape
and quality of their hoofs before described.
The skin of the Rocky Mountain goat has never had any regular commercial
value. The stiff, coarse, brittle hair that is mixed with the wool
renders them unsuitable for robes or rugs, and this hair can not readily
be plucked out. The only demand for them is for mounting. Very few white
hunters and none of the Indians understand how to skin and preserve them
properly for this purpose, and this fact, taken in connection with that
of the rough and dangerous nature of the ground they inhabit, makes it
difficult to secure good skins, or even heads for mounting.
The flesh of the goat is edible, but in the adult animal is dry and
tasteless. When kids of less than a year old can be obtained, their
flesh is tender and toothsome. They are not hunted, therefore, for meat,
for in the ranges where they are found, deer, mountain sheep, or elks
can be obtained much lower down and are much more desirable for the
table.
During a sojourn of a month in the Bitter Root Mountains, near Missoula,
Mont., last fall I had some very exciting, not to say dangerous,
experiences in hunting this animal. We were camped in Lost Horse Canyon,
through which flows a typical mountain stream. The walls on both sides
are very abrupt and from three to four thousand feet in height. That on
the north is covered from bottom to top with great masses of granite
that have been broken loose from the cliffs at the top by earthquakes,
the action of frost, or other agency, and have tumbled down, breaking
into irregular-shaped fragments, of all sizes, lodging and piling on top
of each other in such a manner as to form a gigantic sort of pavement
from the top of the mountain to the foot. There were narrow strips of
the mountain side that had escaped these fallen masses. Here the
outcropping granite remained in its natural shape--irregular ledges with
small patches of earth intervening. Pines, hemlocks, cedars, and various
kinds of shrubs grew in these places as far up the mountain side as the
timber line.
I ascended this north wall one morning and after a weary and toilsome
climb of about two miles, and when in snow about six inches deep, I came
upon the track of a very large goat. It was some hours old, but he had
been feeding deliberately along the mountain side, and as they are not
rapid travelers in any case, I knew he was not a great distance away. I
took up the trail and followed it. It led over a succession of these
vast rock piles, which, owing to their being covered with snow, made the
traveling doubly dangerous. A slight misstep at any point, or an
unfortunate slip would be liable to let my foot drop in between two of
these rocks and throw me in such a way as to break a leg, an arm, or
possibly my head. The greatest care was therefore necessary in picking
my way over this dangerous country, and I was frequently struck with the
wise provisions which Nature makes for fulfilling her ends when I saw
where the animal I was pursuing had bounded lightly from rock to rock
over chasms many feet in width; or where he had walked up the sharp edge
of some slab of granite not more than three or four inches wide and
lying at a high angle; or where he had walked up over a flat slab of it,
tilted so steep that no other large animal in the mountains could have
followed him. There were many of his passages in which I could not
follow, but I had to make slow and tortuous detours, coming upon his
trail again beyond these most dangerous points.
Had he traveled straight ahead I could never have overtaken him, but the
time he consumed in frequently stopping to nip the tender leaves of the
mountain alder or the juicy lichens that grow upon the rocks proved
fatal to him, and finally, after a chase of probably two miles and when
near the top of the peak close to timber line, I came in sight of him.
He was truly a beautiful creature. There he stood, unconscious of
approaching danger, looking calmly out across a neighboring canyon as if
enjoying the grand scenery about him. Occasionally he turned to take a
mouthful of some delicate mountain herb that stood near him. The pale
creamy white of his fleece contrasted delicately and beautifully with
the green of the cedars, the golden autumn-colored leaves of the shrubs,
the dull gray of the granite rocks, and the pure white of the early
autumn snow. The sunlight glistened upon the polished black of his
proudly curved and beautifully rounded horns, and his large black eyes
gleamed as with conscious innocence and pride. I contemplated his
majestic mien for several minutes before I could nerve myself to the
task of taking his life, but finally the hunter's instinct conquered my
more delicate feelings. I put my rifle to my shoulder, pressed the
gently yielding trigger, and in an instant more his life blood crimsoned
the driven snow.
After making temporary disposition of his remains, I returned as rapidly
as possible to camp to get my photographic outfit and some help to
carry him in, for we were short of meat at the time. It was three
o'clock in the afternoon when I reached camp, and, eating a hasty lunch,
I started back up the mountain with three of my friends.
When we again reached the carcass it was five o'clock, and our work must
be done hastily in order to get down the mountain as far as possible
before dark. To add to the discomfort of our undertaking a drizzling
rain set in just as I was ready to make the views. I exposed a couple of
plates, however, which fortunately turned out fairly. We then set to
work to skin him as rapidly as possible, and as soon as this was
accomplished we started on our return to camp, two of the men taking the
two hind quarters of the animal, another my camera, and I the skin and
head. With these loads, weighing from twenty-five to thirty-five pounds
each, besides our rifles, and considering the difficult and dangerous
nature of the ground we had to travel over and the fact that it was
already beginning to grow dark, we had, indeed, a perilous journey
before us. Climbing over these rock piles when covered with snow was
difficult enough work in daylight, but to attempt it in the darkness and
now that it was raining heavily, the snow having become wet and slushy
and the rocks more slippery than before, it was doubly perilous.
Our course lay diagonally down and along the side of the mountain, and
as long as the light was sufficient to at all see where we were stepping
we made fair progress. Frequently, however, someone would slip and fall,
but fortunately without receiving any serious injury. We were often
compelled to hold to some shrub or tree and let ourselves down over
projecting rocks several feet, where we could not possibly have stood up
without such aid.
Finally, when we were yet less than half way down the mountain side, it
became pitch dark. Here we sat down to rest. The rain was falling in
torrents, and but for the snow on the ground we could not now have seen
a step ahead of us. We had entered one of those more favored strips of
land where the falling rocks had not covered the ground entirely, and
where there was a considerable growth of timber, both large trees and
underbrush. I was in favor of going straight down through this into the
creek bottom where we could at least walk in safety, even if our
progress should be slower. One of my friends--Mr. Overturf--agreed with
me, but the other two--Mr. McWhirk and Mr. Hinchman--preferred to
continue over the rocks in a direct line to camp. We therefore decided
to separate, Frank and I going straight down through this strip of
timber and over the smoother ground, and the other two following the
more direct course.
We two reached the foot of the mountain in about an hour more; not,
however, without encountering serious difficulties in grasping and
finding our way down over precipitous rocks and earth, hanging on to one
limb or shrub until we came in reach of another, and thus letting
ourselves down safely. We were then about a mile and a half from camp.
The creek bottom was densely timbered. There was a dim game trail
leading through it up to our camp, but it was impossible to follow it in
the darkness, and, in fact, it required the closest attention of
experienced woodsmen and hunters to follow it in daylight. We were
therefore utterly at sea. We were safe, however, and we heaved a sigh of
relief when we found ourselves on level ground, for none of us had
relished the idea of having a bone broken in that country, so far from
medical aid and home comforts.
Great snow slides had for ages been coming down these mountain sides
bringing their debris, such as rocks, and logs, and whole trees with
them. These had frequently gone some distance into the creek bottom,
breaking and felling all the trees in their path. Tornadoes had raged
through the canyon, also, breaking and lopping trees in various
directions, so that we now encountered a body of woods through which the
most expert woodsman could not possibly travel more than a mile an hour
in daylight. Add to this the cimmerian darkness in which we were now
groping (for there was no snow here in the bottom of the canyon) and the
reader may well imagine that our progress was slow and tedious in the
extreme.
We sat down and held another consultation. I favored building a fire and
staying there till morning, but Frank preferred pushing on to camp, so I
acquiesced. We soon found, however, that it was utterly impossible for
us to get through these windfalls in the darkness and with our heavy
loads, and decided as a last resort to get into the bed of the creek and
wade up it. We were already wet to the skin from head to foot, and this
wading could be no worse than clambering over logs and through jungles
of wet underbrush. We soon reached the creek and our hearts sank within
us as we listened to its tumultuous roar and looked upon its angry
bosom, for here we were enabled to see slightly, owing to the faint
light admitted through the narrow opening in the trees overhead, how
rough and boisterous it was! Its bed was a succession of bowlders from
the size of a man's head to that of a small house, and its waters,
coming direct from the snow, were ice cold. Yet to camp here was to
suffer all night from wet and cold, and we preferred to push on.
By keeping near the shore we could nearly all the time have brush to
hang to and steady ourselves, but where there were none of these in
reach our rubber boots slipped on the smooth wet rocks, and several
times we fell into the icy flood up to our chins. Once, in particular, I
fell in water nearly three feet deep, dropped my gun and it went to the
bottom. I fished it out, however, staggered to my feet, and struggled
on.
After nearly two hours of this terrible trudging, wading, and
staggering, we at last reached camp at eleven o'clock at night and
triumphantly deposited our burdens within the tent.
Our two friends, from whom we had separated _en route_, had arrived only
half an hour ahead of us, and notwithstanding the rain, which still fell
heavily, Dr. Hale, who had remained in camp, had a great log-heap fire
blazing in front of the tent. A pot of coffee steamed by the fire, and a
sumptuous supper of broiled bear steaks, baked potatoes, and hot
biscuits awaited us, but I was too tired to eat. I drank a pint of hot
coffee, put on dry flannels, crawled into my blankets, and slept soundly
till morning.
As further illustrating the habits of the mountain goat and the perils
attending its capture, I may be permitted to narrate the experience of
Mr. Westlake, a ranchman in Eastern Idaho, who attempted to procure a
pair of skins for a friend in the East a few years ago. He employed a
Flathead Indian as guide and assistant, who claimed to know the country
thoroughly in which they purposed hunting, and to have had considerable
experience in hunting goats. Mr. Westlake provided himself with a good
saddle-horse and one pack-horse, a rifle, camp outfit, including a small
tent, and provisions for himself and the Indian for twenty days. The
Indian was fairly mounted on a small but tough Indian pony and well
armed. They set out on September 2, and traveled across the country to
the Clearwater river, up which they rode several days, over a very
difficult and tedious trail, and when well up toward the head of the
stream they reached the mouth of one of its tributaries which debouches
from a deep and rugged canyon. Up this they decided to go, for it was
their intention to reach the Bitter Root Mountains, one of the best
known ranges for the goat.
This canyon proved, like many others in that region, almost impassable
for man or beast, and it was with the utmost difficulty and by the
endurance of untold and incredible hardships that they were able to make
seven or eight miles a day. They encountered plenty of game in the
canyon, however, among which were elks, bears, and mule-deer, and the
creek which ran through the canyon yielded them an abundance of trout, so
that they fared sumptuously so far as food was concerned.
Finally, after several days in this canyon, they reached the head of it
and came out on a high plateau which was covered with heavy pine timber
interspersed with beautiful parks or meadows and thickets of aspen and
alder. Numerous springs boiling up here coursed down into the canyon from
which they had just emerged, and fed the creek which ran through it.
Pressing forward across this formation for a distance of about ten
miles, they reached the base of one of the great snow-capped peaks, near
the top of which they expected to find the particular game of which they
were in search. But this mountain was so precipitous and so rough that
it was impossible for them to get their horses up it in any way. They
discussed various plans of accomplishing their object. It was highly
dangerous to leave their horses here alone, lest the bears or mountain
lions, which were so numerous in the vicinity, should stampede and run
them off. It was impossible for either man to go alone and bring down
two of the skins and heads suitably prepared for mounting, as they, with
the other load which it was necessary to take along, would be more than
any one man could carry. It would take two days to make the ascent, have
a few hours for hunting, and return to where they then were, and in
order to pass the night at all comfortably in that high altitude a
liberal supply of blankets must be carried.
They therefore decided, as the only feasible plan, to make camp where
they were and start up early the next morning, leaving their horses
behind. They made all possible preparations that night, and the next
morning arose at four o'clock. By sunrise they had breakfasted, and
with their packs, consisting of two pairs of blankets each and a two
days' supply of cooked food, they started. They did not dare picket or
hobble their horses, as either would give the wild beasts a chance to
attack and kill them, and could only trust to luck, an abundant supply
of good grass and water, and the well-known attachment which nearly all
Western horses feel for a camp, to keep them there until their return.
After a hard day's climb they came upon abundant signs of goats about
the middle of the afternoon, and, preparing a temporary bivouac under a
shelving rock, they deposited their loads, made a pot of coffee, ate a
hearty dinner, and started out to look for the game. They had not gone
far when Mr. Westlake sighted a large, handsome male goat standing on
the top of a cliff, and approaching within easy rifle range he fired and
killed it. It fell some twenty or thirty feet, and lodged behind a
projecting slab of granite. It was secured after considerable hard work,
hastily skinned, and the skin and some of the best cuts of the meat
carried to their temporary camp. Night was now approaching, and the
hunters set about preparing a supply of wood. There were numerous dead
pine and cedar trees, of stunted growth and peculiar shapes, standing
and lying among the rocks, and a generous supply was soon provided.
Next, a large quantity of cedar boughs were cut, brought in and spread
under the overhanging rock, to a depth of a foot or more. On these the
blankets were spread, and the hunters had a bed which many a tired
lodger in Eastern city hotels might well envy them. By building a
rousing fire in front, which was reflected against the rock wall behind
them, and by occasionally replenishing it during the night, they slept
comfortably, though the temperature ran several degrees below zero.
Early the next morning both men started out in search of a female goat
to complete their undertaking. Nearly two hours had been spent in
hunting, when the Indian found a fresh track in the snow some distance
above their temporary camp. He followed it until it led in among a
forest of rent and jagged cliffs of granite, and Westlake, who was some
distance away, seeing by the Indian's motions that he was on a trail,
started toward him. When within a few feet of where he had last seen the
Indian he heard the report of his rifle, and a shout announced that his
shot had been successful. Mr. Westlake followed on into the chasm from
whence the report came and saw the Indian attempting to scale the side
of a nearly perpendicular wall of rock, stepping cautiously from niche
to niche and shelf to shelf; holding on with his hands to every
projecting point that afforded him any assistance. He finally reached
the top of the ledge, and reaching over caught hold of the now lifeless
body of the goat that he had killed, and drew it toward him. But when it
swung off from the top of the ledge its weight and the consequent strain
on his muscular power was greater than the Indian had anticipated, and
before he had time to let go of the carcass and save himself his slight
hold on the rock was torn loose, and uttering a wild shriek he fell a
distance of nearly sixty feet, striking on a heap of broken rocks! He
was instantly killed.
Here was a sad blow to poor Westlake. His only companion, his faithful
guide, and the only human being within fifty miles of him, lay a corpse
at his feet. He had no means whatever of getting the body back to their
camp, much less of returning it to the unfortunate red man's friends. He
had not even a tool of any kind to dig a grave with, and the only thing
he could do in that direction was to build a wall of rocks around the
body, lay some flat slabs across the top, and then carry and lay on top
of these a number of the largest and heaviest rocks he could handle, to
protect it from the ravages of wild beasts. When this sad duty was
completed he returned with a heavy heart to their temporary camp, and
with as much of their luggage as he was able to carry started down the
mountain. Arriving about noon at the tent, he was horrified to find the
tracks of a large bear in and about it, the greater portion of his
supplies eaten up or destroyed, and his horses nowhere in sight. A hasty
examination showed that the bear had passed through the little park in
which they had last been grazing--evidently early that morning--that
they had taken flight and fled in the direction of the head of the canyon
up which they had come. Westlake followed them several miles until
convinced that they had really started on their back trail, and then he
returned to camp. By this time night was again approaching and it was
with a heavy heart that he prepared to pass it there, all alone, and
still further depressed with the thought that he had now a journey of a
hundred miles or more before him, to the nearest settlement, which he
must undoubtedly make on foot. He ate his supper alone and in sadness,
and as the camp fire blazed in front of his tent it cast fitful shadows
into the gloom, which was unbroken by any sound save the occasional
soughing of the wind through the pine trees or the cry of some wild
animal. He finally retired to rest, but his sleep was broken by troubled
dreams. As the sun arose he prepared a hasty meal, which was eaten in
silence, and with a pair of blankets, a few pounds of flour, salt, and
coffee, and his rifle, he started, leaving his tent standing and all
else in it as a monument to the memory of his friend and a landmark to
future hunters and mountaineers to locate the scene of his great
misfortune. He traveled seven days before seeing the face of a human
being or sleeping under a shelter of any kind, when he finally reached a
ranch where his horses had preceded him and had been corraled to await
an owner.
It is fortunate that all goat hunters do not meet with such disasters as
did poor Westlake and his young friend, or the noble sport would have
still fewer votaries than it now has.