"With keen concern I watched him through the waning light rolling helplessly over and over until after a final tumble he landed in a great drift, out of which, to my great joy, he emerged the next moment, shook himself vigorously, and sent back a brisk bark as though to say, ’Come along; it’s not so bad as it looks.’ "Instantly I caught the idea. If my dog made the descent uninjured, why could not I? Great as the risk might be, it was, after all, no worse than staying on the ledge all night. To think was to act. Loosening the ram’s head from my back, I sent it down after Oscar. It sped to the bottom and buried itself in a snow-bank. Next I tied my rifle, hatchet, and hunting-knife on one of the snow-shoes, and despatched them. They, too, made the trip all right, and vanished in the snow. Then came my turn. Rolling up the plaid I lashed it on the remaining snow-shoe, and committed myself to this extemporized toboggan. "What followed is more than I can tell. So steep was the slope that I seemed to drop into space. I was not conscious of touching anything, but simply of being shot through the icy air, blinded by particles of snow, and choking for lack of breath, until I was hurled like a stone from a catapult into a mass of loosely-packed snow, and lost consciousness. "When I came to myself, Bruce and Oscar were both beside me, licking my face with affectionate anxiety. At first I could not move, and my whole body was so full of pain that I feared I had been seriously injured. But, after lying still awhile, I made shift to get upon my feet, and to my vast relief found myself none the worse of my wild descent, save for a scratched face and a severe shaking. "My next thought was for the horns. I had no difficulty in extricating them or the rifle from their snowy bed, and found both were uninjured. Strapping them once more on my shoulders, and adjusting my snow-shoes, I set off down the ravine. "To get back to the fort that evening was, of course, out of the question, but I hoped to find some cavity in the cliff where I could spend the night safely. Just before dark I discovered a snug little place, perfectly protected from the wind; and there, with my plaid wrapped tight around me, and my dogs curled up close against me, I put in quite a comfortable night. As soon as the day broke I started for the fort, and reached it by noon, half starved and very tired, but as proud of my trophy as David was of Goliath’s head." A hearty round of applause followed the conclusion of the old Scotchman’s story, and by general consent it was voted the best told during the evening. *THROUGH THE TRACKLESS FOREST.*