increased so rapidly that my entire mornings were spent carrying little goats from the shelf of rock to the cabin and back again. Among the new ones was a dear little beauty of superior intelligence and a sweet, affectionate disposition. I named her Bonnie Bell and chose her for my own pet. She became so attached to me she would follow me home of her own accord, and loved me as devotedly as a puppy. She was white as snow, her hair was long and silky, and her eyes a soft hazel and very expressive. She had cunning little hoofs, and looked quite a bit like a lamb. I gave her a blue ribbon collar and fed her condensed milk from a spoon. If we ran short of milk, she sucked my finger for a substitute.
At this time the wolves became troublesome. Their howls made the night hideous and the days lost their charm with those sly marauders skulking through the brush. The mother goats became worried about leaving the babies to go for the herbage that grew on the peaks, but hunger forced them. For several mornings all was well with the little ones. I was on the spot