One of the Fur Commissioners of the Hudson Bay Company at Winnipeg was entertaining a number of the factors and other officials at Christmas dinner, and after the successive courses had received appreciative attention, the guests settled themselves at ease about the table to enjoy the excellent cigars and one another's conversation.
Made up as the gathering was of men who had for ten, twenty, thirty years or longer, in the pursuance of their vocation, experienced most moving adventures by flood and field, good stories followed fast. One told of a thrilling trip through the dangerous rapids of the Portage of the Drowned; another, of the narrow escape from meeting death at the hands of a grizzly among the foot-hills of the Rockies; while a third held the attention of all as he graphically described the fearful struggle that he had with a wounded bull bison in the valley of the Bow River.
Thus the story-telling went around until it reached Hugh M'Kenzie, one of the oldest officials in the active service, who, in response to a unanimous demand, spun the following interesting yarn of mountain-sheep hunting.
"It was in the third year of my clerkship, and they had sent me away out to Fort George, right in the heart of the Rockies. I would rather have stayed on the plains, where the buffalo were in plenty; but you're not asked as to what you'd like best in the company. You're just told to go, and there's an end of it. I found it very dull at Fort George, and to while away the time I did all the hunting I could. To help me in this I had two fine dogs, of whom I was extremely proud. They were half-bred collies, not particularly handsome creatures, but full of pluck, and as knowing animals as ever wagged tails.
"Having had pretty good luck with bear and other game to be found in the neighbourhood of the fort, I became possessed of a strong desire to secure the head of one of those Rocky Mountain sheep which have their home high up among the peaks, and are as difficult animals to hunt as there are in the world.
"Again and again I went out without success, although my dogs, Bruce and Oscar, seemed as eager to get sheep as I was myself; but instead of becoming disheartened, I grew all the more determined, and longed for the winter to come, when the snow, by covering their higher pasturing grounds, would drive the sheep lower down the mountain, and thus make them more getatable.
"The winter began with a series of heavy snowfalls which shut us all up in the fort for several weeks, and it was early in December before I thought it safe to have another try after the sheep.
"Then one fine, bright morning I started off, feeling very hopeful that I would return with my much-coveted prize. The dogs, of course, went with me, but I had no other companion, nobody else having sufficient sporting ardour to share in the risks of my expedition; for it certainly was full of risks, and had I been older and wiser I would never have undertaken it. But I was young and strong and full of spirit, and my eagerness to obtain a set of horns had become a bit of a joke against me with the fellows; so that I was not in the mood to soberly weigh the pros and cons of the matter.
"Thinking it possible I might be out all night, I rolled up some provisions and matches in my thick plaid, and strapped it on my shoulders. With hatchet and hunting-knife in my belt, a full powder-horn at my side, snowshoes on feet and rifle in hand, I set out amid the good-humoured chaffing of my fellow-clerks.
"Up into the mountains I climbed, keeping a keen look-out for signs of the game I was seeking, while Bruce and Oscar ranged right and left, so that we covered a good deal of ground between us. By mid-day the climbing became so steep and difficult that I had to take off my snow-shoes, and strapped them on my back. They were no longer necessary, at any rate, for the snow was covered with a crust which bore me up admirably, and made easy going for my moccasined feet.