Hunter and I were caught on a bald hillside exposed to a biting north wind, with no chance of a nearer approach without being seen.  Finally, as a last resort, we determined upon a drive.

While I lay perfectly still, Hunter advanced boldly across the open in a big circle, getting between the hill and the main range.  When the rams’ attention was fixed on him, I cautiously worked back and around, taking up a position which commanded the ridge over which the sheep had just gone.  When Hunter had got between them and the other mountains, he began to approach.  The rams now sprang to their feet, and evidently fully realized their dangerous position.  They came, as we had expected, to the other end of the range from where I had taken my stand, but seemed reluctant to go back further on the isolated foothills.

It was too far for an accurate shot, and I waited, hoping for a better chance.  As Hunter now worked up over the summit, the sheep broke back below him, and in another second would have had a clear field across the flat to the main range.  Running up as quickly as the nature of the ground would permit, I lessened the distance some fifty yards, and, just as they were about to disappear from view, I fired twice, carefully aiming at the larger sheep, which I knew to be the big ram.

There was a strong wind blowing, and accurate shooting at such a long distance was out of the question, so I must regard it as an exceptionally lucky shot which broke his leg.

Hunter now signaled me to continue around the hill, and I soon came upon the old fellow lying down.  I seated myself well within range, intending to catch my breath before shooting, when he suddenly sprang to his feet and bounded down the hill.  I fired and missed, and started in pursuit.  Although a sheep with a broken leg finds it hard to go up hill over rough ground, it is surprising how fast they can go down hill or across the open.

When this ram came to the base of the mountain he started in a straight line across the tableland, and led me a long chase before I ran him down and shot him.  He carried quite a pretty head, measuring 13-1/2 inches around the butts and 32 inches along the curve.

I had now reached the limit I had set on sheep, and although I saw some later, I did not go after them.

It stormed hard all that night, and we woke the next morning to another wet and dismal day.  I, therefore, determined to remain in camp, and was mending my much-worn knickerbockers by the fire when a moose was sighted on the mountain above timber, making for the thick belt of alders.  He was soon hidden from view, and as we could not see that he passed through any of the open patches lower down, we hoped that he had chosen this secure retreat to lay up in.

The rain was coming down in torrents, but the bull carried a large and massive pair of antlers, and as I did not want to allow a chance to go by, Hunter and I were soon in pursuit.  We circled well around in order to get the wind, and then forced our way through the heavy underbrush for some hours until we finally came to the belt of alders where we had last seen him.  I now climbed a tree at the edge of the timber, hoping that from a lofty position I should be able to locate him, but met with no success.