Moise, although good-natured, none the less was fond enough of good living, and, moreover, disposed to rest very well content when the camping conditions were as good as those in which they now found themselves. He thought that it might be just as well not to be in too big a hurry.

“Suppose we did get caught on those high water, M’sieu Deek,” he said; “if we only wait some time, she’ll run down bime-by. But suppose we’ll don’t got nothing to eat but bacon and flour, and go starve to death. What then?”

“Well, Moise,” said Rob, as they sat at the breakfast-table, where the good voyageur made this remark, “we’ve got a whole lake full of trout there waiting for us to go out and catch them—if we didn’t fall off the raft again.”

“Never mind about that raft any more, young man,” said Uncle Dick. “A raft is all right if you have nothing else, and if you have to use it, but it is not compulsory here. We’ll just leave the raft business and try for some trout down here in the creek.”

“There’ll ain’t no trout on those creek,” objected Moise. “I’ll try him myself, and not get no bite. Besides, M’sieu Deek, feesh is all right for woman and dog, but meat she is more better for strong man.”

“That’s the way I feel about it,” said John, his mouth half full of bacon. “I wouldn’t mind a little fresh meat once in a while. But where are we going to get it?”

“No moose up in here,” volunteered Jesse, “and I don’t suppose any caribou either. As for sheep, I suppose there are none this side of the high peaks east of here, are there, Uncle Dick?”

“Probably not. But we’ll find caribou farther west. Besides, there are any number of white goats in these mountains all around us here. I suppose you know what they are, although I’m not sure you ever saw them in Alaska.”

“I know them,” said Rob. “They’re the greatest climbers in the world—‘On top’ is their motto always.”

“That’s why the head of a white goat is always considered a good trophy among sportsmen; it means that the hunter has had to climb high for it. They’re a sporting proposition, all right, those goats; but when it comes to eating, that’s something different. I boiled goat meat two days straight once, and it was still like shoe leather.” Uncle Dick 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 Dick, “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 Dick. “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 Dick 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 Dick 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 TÊte 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 Dick. 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 Dick, “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 shirts, 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 Dick 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 glass 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 passed through here rarely left the trail except for necessary hunting, but passed on through as rapidly as they might, this being merely their highway, and not their hunting-grounds.

“What is this, Uncle Dick?” called Rob, after a time, as, turning from their study of the noble 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.

“It looks as if horses had been here,” said Rob, “yesterday, late.”

“Yes,” said Uncle Dick, smiling, “but not horses, I should say.”

“Maybe not,” said Rob, doubtfully. “But I thought maybe prospectors had been in here.”

“Only the original prospectors—the ones with white coats and long whiskers and sharp horns,” said Uncle Dick.

“But it looks like a regular trail!”

“It is a regular trail, but if you will look closer you’ll see the hoof marks. Horses do not have split toes, my boy. In fact, I have no doubt this is the regular stairway of the goat family that lives on this mountain. Like enough they’ve been down in here to get some different sort of grass or water. They’ve evidently been using this path quite a while.”

“How high do you suppose they are now?” inquired John.

“Who can tell? A mile or two, or three, or five, for all I know. It will take us two or three hours to get up to the rim-rock, at least, and I’ve usually noticed that goats don’t stop much short of the rim-rock when they start to go up a hill. The sign is fresh, however, made late last night or very early this morning; I think with you, Rob, that it was yesterday.”

“How many are there?” inquired Jesse, bending over the broad trail.

“Hard to tell, for they’ve used this trail more than once. A dozen or more, I should say. Well, all we can do is to follow after them and thank them for showing us a good path.”

They climbed on up all the more eagerly now, and when they reached more open country where the sun shone fairly on them they soon were dripping with perspiration. But, young as were these hunters from Alaska, they were not inexperienced in mountain-climbing. They knew that the way to get up a mountain is to keep on slowly and steadily, not hurrying, and never resting very long at a time. Thus they advanced for three-quarters of an hour, until they could see still farther out over the country below them. Now they could see that the game had sometimes wandered about feeding, and the trail itself divided and grew fainter.

Uncle Dick pointed out all these things quietly and suggested that they would better be on the lookout. They advanced now more carefully, and whenever they came to the edge of an open reach or topped some shoulder of the slope they paused and examined the country ahead very carefully. At last, when they had reached an altitude where the trees were much smaller and more scattering, Uncle Dick stopped and took his field-glasses from the case. He lay for some time, resting the glasses on a big rock, sweeping all the country ahead of him with the glasses. At last they saw him stop and gaze steadily at one spot for quite a while.

“See anything?” asked Jesse, eagerly.

Uncle Dick did not reply at once, but after a time handed Jesse the glasses. “Look over there,” said he, “about half a mile, right at the foot of that rock wall. You’ll see something that looks like a flock of snowballs, rather large ones.”

Jesse tried the glasses for a time, and at last caught the spot pointed out to him. “I see,” said he, in a whisper. “Goats! Lots of them.” They showed so plainly in the glasses, in fact, that he spoke carefully, as though he feared to frighten them.

“Oh, look at them!” said he, after a while. “The young ones are playing like little sheep, jumping and butting around and having a regular frolic.”

“Any big ones?” asked Rob, quickly.

“I should say so; five or six, all sizes. And they look white as big pillows. There’s one that looks as though he had on white pants, and his long white beard makes him look like an old man. He’s looking right down the mountain. You can see them plain against that black rock.”

“Just like a goat,” said Uncle Dick. “They never try to hide themselves. And even when there’s snow on the mountains they’ll leave it and go lie on a black rock where everybody can see them. Well, come on, and we’ll see what sort of a stalk we can make on them.”

They went on much more cautiously now, under Dick’s guidance, keeping under cover in the low trees and working to one side and upward in the general direction of their game. It was hard work, and all the boys were panting when at last their leader called a halt.

“We’ll wait here,” said he, in a low tone of voice. He now unslung the rifle from his back and handed it to John. “You and Rob go on now,” said he. “Don’t shoot until Rob is done with his picture-making. And when you do shoot, don’t kill an old billy, for we couldn’t keep the head. Kill one of the young goats—I think there are two or three yearlings there. I wouldn’t shoot either of those two pairs of kids. They’re too little even for Moise, I think.”

“Where are you going, Uncle Dick?” asked Rob.

“Jesse and I are going to stop right here under cover, and Jesse shall have the sport of watching your hunt through the field-glasses—almost as good fun as going along himself. Go on now, and don’t lose any time.”

The two older boys now advanced carefully up the slope, using the cover of the trees as far as they could. They appeared in the open for a little time, only to disappear beyond a series of rocks which projected from the slope above them.

“I don’t see where they’ve gone,” said Jesse, who was steadily watching through the glasses.

“Give them time,” said Uncle Dick. “You must remember that Rob has to get pretty close in order to make the photograph. I’m sure they’re within rifle-range now.”

“Oh, there they are!” whispered Jesse, a little later. “I see them now. They’re up above the goats, and crawling right down toward them. Now there’s old Rob, he’s trying to get to the edge of the rocks; I can see he’s got his camera all ready. He’ll be on top of them, almost, if he gets there.”

“Good boy, Rob!” said Uncle Dick, approvingly. “He has made a good stalk of it.”

Jesse, still gazing through the glasses, now saw his two friends slowly advancing, clinging like flies to the steep rock’s face, but all the time getting closer to their game. The goats seemed not to suspect an enemy, but lay or stood about in perfect unconcern. They did not have any sentinel posted, as the mountain sheep often will, but seemed to feel perfectly secure from all intrusion.

At last Jesse saw Rob stand up straight and walk forward rapidly with his camera in front of him. The goats now heard or scented him, for at once they all stood up and turned toward him, facing him silent and motionless.

“They don’t know what he is!” exclaimed Jesse. “They’re just looking at him. No, there goes a big one right up toward him.”

“In that case,” said Uncle Dick, “Rob will get his picture, sure.” An easy prophecy, for, as a matter of fact, Rob secured several very good pictures of the old goat and the others, as he stood rapidly working his camera, almost in the face of the fearless old billy which advanced toward him so pugnaciously.

But now Jesse saw the band of goats apparently take alarm at something. They turned and began to disperse, some of them climbing slowly up the apparently perpendicular rock face.

“They’ll run right into John!” exclaimed Jesse. “There he is—there, he’s shot! Got him, too!”

They heard the faint sound of the report of the rifle come down from above, and could see the fall of the goat as he slipped and rolled among the rocks.

“Well done,” said Uncle Dick. “They’ve both done their work well, Jesse, and I am pretty sure we’ll have both goat pictures and goat steaks, all we want. I’m glad John did not get crazy and shoot a lot of those poor creatures.”

“Come on,” said Jesse, “let’s run up to where they are.”

In due time they climbed up to where Rob and Jesse were sitting by the side of the dead goat. The boys waved their hats to one another as Jesse approached, smiling and panting.

“I saw it all,” said Jesse, “right in the field-glasses, close up. That’s fine, isn’t it?”

Rob and John both began to talk at once, while Uncle Dick stood smilingly looking down at the dead goat.

“I could have killed two or three big ones,” said John. “What heads they had, too!”

“What could we have done with them?” asked his uncle. “No, you did quite right in killing this yearling—it’s all we want. And I think Rob had the hardest task of any of us; it’s easier to shoot a goat with a rifle than with a camera.”

“Well,” said Rob, “it was just the way you said—they didn’t seem afraid at all. I’ve got one picture, square front end, of that old fellow, and I don’t think he was twenty feet away from me. He seemed to think the camera was something that was going to hurt him, and he showed fight.”

“Now,” said Uncle Dick, “the next thing is to get our meat down the mountain.”

Rolling up his sleeves, he now prepared to skin out such meat as he wanted from the dead goat. He cut off the head and neck, and cut off the legs at the knee-joints. Then he skinned back only the fore quarters, leaving the hide still attached to the hind quarters and the saddle. Using his belt, he folded the skin over the saddle, and then, tying the sleeves of his coat so that it covered his shoulders, he hoisted the saddle astride of his neck.

“I don’t fancy this smell very much,” said he, “but I guess it will be the easiest way to get our meat down the mountain. Come on now, boys, every fellow for himself, and be careful not to get a fall.”

It was hard and sometimes rather slow work scrambling down the steep face of the mountain, especially high up where the rocks were bare. But after a time they came to the small green trees, and then to the tall pines under whose shade the ground was softer and gave them a better footing. It did not take them so long to come down as it had to ascend, but they were all tired when late that afternoon they arrived at their camp on the little promontory.

Moise was overjoyed at their success, and was all for cooking some of the meat at once; but Uncle Dick checked him.

“No,” said he, “it’s too fresh yet. Skin it out, Moise, and hang it up overnight, at least. You may set a little of it to stew all night at the fire, if you like. Soak some more of it overnight in salt and water—and then I think you’d better throw away all the kettles that you’ve used with this goat meat. It may be all right, but I’m afraid it’s going to be a long time before I learn to like goat. If this were a mountain sheep, now, I could eat all that saddle myself.”

Moise asked who killed the goat, and when told that it was John he complimented him very much. For Rob’s work with the camera he had less praise.

“I s’pose she’s all right to make picture of goat,” said he, “but s’pose a man he’s hongree, he couldn’t eat picture, could he?”

Rob only laughed at him. “You wait, Moise,” said he. “When I get my pictures made maybe you’d rather have one of them than another piece of goat meat.”

In spite of Uncle Dick’s disgust, Moise that evening broiled himself a piece of the fresh goat meat at the fire, and ate it with such relish that the boys asked for a morsel or so of it themselves. To their surprise, they found the tenderloin not so bad to eat. Thus, with one excuse or another, they sat around the fire, happy and contented, until the leader of the party at last drove them all off to bed.

“I like this place,” said John, “even if I did come pretty nearly getting drowned out there in the lake.”

And indeed the spot had proved so pleasant in every way that it was only with a feeling of regret that they broke camp on Yellowhead Lake and proceeded on their westward journey.