and oak, the current flows, winding, from bank to bank, with an average rate of speed of four or five miles. From the summit of the cliffs stretches a vast level prairie quite to the falls of the Missouri, a distance of perhaps 2,500 miles; but of this great pasture for game I will say nothing for the present, but return to the region of the river, which abounds with antelopes, deer, bears, and big-horns—the former trooping down the grassy slopes in herds of from fifty to a hundred, stamping their little feet and stretching out their necks, in their impatience to learn the errand of the voyageurs, and the last-mentioned making their appearance on the most inaccessible heights, often standing motionless between the looker and the blue sky above, like images carved out of the chalk which capped many of the peaks. These wild sheep or goats, (for they resemble both,) I observed frequently perched on the precipitous banks within reach, or very nearly, of a good rifle from the shore, but on pointing this out to Jean, the Voyageur, he only laughed, saying, “_Sacré!_ monsieur, dat vere true—a’most, tourjours a’most—but nevare anyting else. _Monsieur bighorn a bien de connaissance_—all de Injens call him ‘med’cine’—ha! Him stan’ vere quite—him not move an pouce. Mais, tenez, him eye fix on you steady, not so much as make vink. Ven you come assez close, you raise your fusil—oh, vere softly—den you quite sure ob him rib for supper. Mais—dans l’instant—_sacré!_—where him jomp? You look leetle more high up de cliff, and dare him stan’ a’most in de—de—how you call? Ah, in de shot-rifle. Nevare mind, you say, I not so slow anoder time. Den you climb up leetle vay and take de aim agen. Mais, come autrefois, him no longer dere—mais _a’most_—ah, diable! toujours _a’most_!” We laughed at Jean’s odd description of the habits of these wonderful mountain-sheep, which he rendered more forcible by his extravagant gestures, sometimes rising suddenly in our narrow canoe, at the risk of turning it bottom upward. “But,” said I, “what if one were to drive one of your ‘medicine’ goats where he would have no higher place to leap to, and only a sheer precipice before him?” “Oh ho, monsieur, you tink you got him vere safe now—mais, monsieur, med’cine not tink so—him laugh, oh vere much in him sleeve—diable! in him hide! Eh bien, you much fatigué—you say to yourself, now or nevare! Den you raise your rifle for de last time—your finger feel for de trigger—_n’est-ce pas?_—Hola! sacré, diable, ventrebleu—were him? You rub your eye, you open him wide—_so_ wide. Presently you look more closer—you not see no terrace, noting but deep prec’pice—ha! Den you smile vid yourself, you quite sure him break de neck at de bottom. You creep down, creep down vere slow, dat your neck might not brake _aussi_. Mais, ven you reach de bottom, you not see him novere!” “How—you don’t mean to say that this devil of a goat can fall a hundred feet or more without breaking every bone in his body?”