Then I lay behind some gnarled and stunted firs to watch for game. The surrounding country with its crags and towering precipices was an ideal home for big horn and white goats. From my exposed place on the shoulder of the mountain, I had a far-stretching view—a wide panorama of unnamed peaks all towering into the blue, of valleys, emerald lakes, green forests, and white snowfields. It was then so late I had given up hope of getting any game that day. Suddenly I caught sight of moving objects on a snowfield at the head of a valley. Through my glasses I saw a herd of five goats led by a large billy. They were the whitest things I have ever seen. It was only because of their jet-black horns that I could see them on the snow. Never shall I forget my feeling of exhilaration to see those wild animals in their native haunts, and my eagerness to get one for a hunter’s trophy. They were coming my way. They were traveling fast and were headed for a grassy knoll high above me. I waited until they were out of sight behind a shoulder of the mountain, then left my ambush and climbed with all my might. I crept along the side of a low ridge, hiding behind clumps of alpine fir and juniper. With my large 45–70 rifle, rope, and cartridge-belt, I had a heavy load for climbing. The ascent was steep and covered with broken rocks. Because of the high altitude, I was soon winded and felt weak in the knees. But my only chance for a shot was to reach the knoll first. When I was close to the spot, I threw myself behind a patch of juniper—not a moment too soon. Before I could raise my rifle, the head of a billy appeared over the edge of the slope. First he took a look around; the others were behind and not in sight. Then he took a bite of grass and stepped into view. I raised my rifle very slowly, very carefully, and threw a cartridge into the barrel. The sound alarmed him, for he threw up his head. I fired and hit him behind the shoulder. He bounded into the air. I sent my second shot into another goat, wounding him. With my third shot, I killed the first goat; and in the meantime the second billy had disappeared. Then I saw him going up the mountain with discouraging agility. I followed and came upon a nanny with two young kids. I walked within a few feet, while they stood calm and unconcerned. The kids were beautiful little animals, like woolly toy goats. They stalked back and forth, wagging their ears and looking at me in a puzzled way. They were consumed with curiosity and hopped up on a big rock to get a better view. I wanted to stay and watch them, but went instead to find the wounded goat.