Part 11 (2/2)

Uncle d.i.c.k shook his head.

”Oh, you'll got old goat--old Guillaume goat,” said Moise. ”He's too tough for eat. But s'pose you'll got some small leetle goat; she's good for eat like anything.”

”So I've heard,” said Uncle d.i.c.k, ”but I'm willing to take my chances with flour and bacon.”

”Well, now,” said Rob, ”if there are goats in here I'd like awfully well to try to photograph one, at least. They tell me they're so dull and stupid you can go right up on them.”

”I'm not so sure about their being stupid,” replied Uncle d.i.c.k. ”I think it's more likely that they just are not afraid of anything. A big billy will kill any dog in the world, and some hunters declare that they will even fight a grizzly bear. Their little black horns are sharp as needles, and they can hit a hard blow with that neck of theirs, backed by a couple of hundred pounds of bone and muscle.

”Whatever a goat may be as to wisdom, he won't run away, and you can never hurry him. A bighorn will run for miles if he smells or sees you, but if a goat sees you he'll take his own time, stop and look at you, and then go off as slowly as he likes. If you get too close to him, he may stop and stamp his feet, and work his lips at you, and show he's angry. But he'll never show he is scared. That's why they are so easy to kill, once you climb up where they are. That ought to make them easy to photograph, too, Rob. I should say there were ten chances to get a goat photograph to one of the bighorn.”

”Do you suppose there are any around here?” inquired Jesse.

”Plenty of them on old Yellowhead Mountain, right here above us.”

”Well, why not have a hunt, then?”

Uncle d.i.c.k threw up his hands. ”Now, there you go again, always wanting to stop to fish or hunt! I've told you that we ought to hurry on through.”

”Well, just one day!” argued John.

Uncle d.i.c.k sighed. ”Well,” said he, ”we ought to be glad you're not drowned, John. And I suppose you think we ought to make some sacrifice on that account? Well, all right. If you promise to be contented with one day's hunt, and to start out to-morrow morning and keep on the trail until we strike the Tete Jaune Cache, I'll agree to go with you to-day. The fact is, I wouldn't mind stretching my own legs a little bit, for I'm cramped with saddle work. But I warn you it's a stiff pull up that mountain there.”

”Shall we just go to photograph?” asked Rob, ”or shall we take the rifle?”

”As you like, for this is British Columbia here, and I've a license for each of you to shoot game as needed. But we only want one goat, so we don't need to take more than one rifle. And it really is hard climbing.”

”Let me take my camera,” said Rob, ”and you carry the rifle, Uncle d.i.c.k. The others won't need to take anything at all.”

”Then we wouldn't have anything to do but just climb,” protested John.

His uncle smiled at him. ”Come now,” said he; ”I'll let you do the shooting if you see a good, fat young goat. For my part, I'd as soon shoot a poor, sick calf in a barnyard. You and Jesse decide which is to shoot, and I'll carry the gun until the time comes.”

”That's all right,” said Moise, who overheard their conversation.

”Those boys was both fine shot, both of him. You let him shoot one small, leetle goat for Moise, and I'll show you he's good for eat.”

”Agreed,” said Uncle d.i.c.k, ”but, mind you, you've only got to-night to cook him--I fear we might get caught in the high waters if we stopped here until you boiled it tender!”

They made ready now for their climb, each with a light pair of nailed boots and heavy stockings. Under their leader's advice they stripped down to their flannel s.h.i.+rts, but each carried along a canvas jacket, ready to put on when they reached the upper heights where the wind was sure to be very cold. Uncle d.i.c.k carried John's rifle, and Rob took his favorite camera, provided with a curtain shutter, and an eye-piece on top where he could look in and see the game on the ground gla.s.s and thus focus it properly. The weather was very fine, and they started out in the best of spirits.

They walked steadily up through the heavy pine forest which covered the foot of the mountain; and then, striking the steeper grade along a bare ridge, they climbed steadily until, turning about and looking down, they could see the glorious prospect which lay below them. The surface of the lake, deep green in color, barely wrinkled now by a light morning breeze, was visible from end to end, three miles or more. On the other side of it showed the bold peaks of Fitzwilliam mountain, back of that yet other peaks were disclosed as they climbed.

In that direction there lay an undiscovered country, and they might well reflect that few even had looked out across it as they themselves now were doing from their lofty perch. They knew well enough that the old traders who pa.s.sed through here rarely left the trail except for necessary hunting, but pa.s.sed on through as rapidly as they might, this being merely their highway, and not their hunting-grounds.

”What is this, Uncle d.i.c.k?” called Rob, after a time, as, turning from their study of the n.o.ble landscape, they resumed their work of ascending the steep mountainside. Rob pointed to the broken surface of the ground at his feet.

”What do you mean, Rob?” asked the older hunter.

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