Then a wild thought came into the mind of the intrepid hunter.
This side of the mountain was not as steep as the one they had climbed. It was a hair-raising slide. There might be obstacles in the way that he could not see, but these robes at the bottom of the mountain must be saved.
So he cried to his companions, "The dogs! They spoil robes and meat. I will go to stop them."
With these words he tightened his belt and took the cartridges from his rifle.
His companions remonstrated with him. They told him he would surely be killed. They reminded him of his kooner and his children in the igloo in Eskimo Town. But Eiseeyou was firm.
He had made up his mind. He would go. So he gripped his rifle that he might use it as an Alpine staff to guide his downward plunge, shook off his companions, and squatting down slipped over the icy slope.
The way in which he gained speed amazed and terrified him. Almost before he knew it, he was slipping down the mountain side like a streak. A shower of ice and snow came rattling down behind him, but he left these smaller bits far behind.
Out and in among the rocks he guided his perilous flight by thrusting his rifle muzzle against the icy crust. Several times he barely missed jagged boulders that suddenly flashed in his path. Once he plunged over a sheer drop of fifteen feet and thought he was lost. If he failed to keep his erect position and started to travel head first, or sideways, he would surely be dashed upon some rock. It was only by guiding his course with the greatest skill and dexterity that he had thus far gone safely. But with a great effort he gained his feet again and went plunging on to the bottom of the hill.