infinity of upper spaces. But no goats; and no tracks of goats.
Little by little we eliminated the possibilities of the country
accessible to us. Leagues in all directions, as far as the eye could
reach, was plenty of other country, all equally good for goats; but it
was not within reach of us from this canon; and our time was up.
Finally, we dropped back and made camp at the last feed; a mile or so
below the Citadel. Two ranges at right angles here converged, and the
Citadel rose like a tower at the corner. Here was our last chance.

CHAPTER V

GOATS

As we were finishing breakfast my eye was attracted to a snow speck on
the mountainside some two thousand feet above us and slightly westward
that somehow looked to me different from other snow specks. For nearly a
minute I stared at it through my glasses. At last the speck moved. The
game was in sight!

We drew straws for the shot, and Fisher won. Then we began our climb. It
was the same old story of pumping lungs and pounding hearts; but with
the incentive before us we made excellent time. A shallow ravine and a
fringe of woods afforded us the cover we needed. At the end of an hour
and a half we crawled out of our ravine and to the edge of the trees.
There across a steep canon and perhaps four hundred yards away were the
goats, two of them, lying on the edge of small cliffs. We could see them
very plainly, but they were too far for a sure shot. After examining
them to our satisfaction we wormed our way back.

"The only sure way," I insisted, "is to climb clear to the top of the
ridge, go along it on the other side until we are above and beyond the
goats, and then to stalk them down hill."

That meant a lot more hard work; but in the end the plan was adopted.
We resumed our interminable and toilsome climbing.

The ridge proved to be of the knife-edge variety, and covered with snow.
From a deep, wide, walled-in basin on the other side rose the howling of
two brush wolves. We descended a few feet to gain safe concealment;
walked as rapidly as possible to the point above the goats; and then
with the utmost caution began our descent.

In the last two hundred yards is the essence of big-game stalking. The
hunter must move noiselessly, he must keep concealed; he must determine
_at each step_ just what the effect of that step has been in the matters
of noise and of altering the point of view. It is necessary to spy
sharply, not only from the normal elevation of