HUNTING THE MOUNTAIN SHEEP
"HOW terribly big they seem, towering so high above us," Roger remarked
to his cousin, as they stood just outside the camp that evening,
looking upward at the lofty heights that shut out the sinking sun.
"We have never seen anything like them before," admitted Dick, "and
I don't believe there are mountains back in Old Virginia, that our
fathers talk about so much, that can hold a candle to these rocky
heights."
"I know for one I'll be glad when we've crossed the backbone of the
ridge, and can see the sun in the late afternoon again," Roger went on
to say. "And after that we have the deserts to cross, if those Indian
tales turn out to be true."
"I feel more anxious about that stage of our journey than I do over the
dangers we may encounter in crossing the mountains," admitted Dick.
"They say men and horses die of thirst on those burning sands. I heard
Captain Lewis explaining how we would make skin bags in order to carry
an extra supply of water with us when we strike the sandy wastes."
So the talk, as was quite natural, was mostly of the possible terrors
of the journey ahead of them. Their imagination was given full swing
to picture many of the strange things mentioned by the roving Indians,
though in some cases these stories turned out to be untrue.
When men had gazed upon such remarkable wonders as the spouting hot
water geysers of the Yellowstone, they could be easily pardoned for
believing almost anything they heard. This vast country had never been
explored, and it seemed to be a veritable storehouse of strange things.
(Note 7.)
The eventful morning came, and seemed to be favorable for beginning
the ascent of the trail leading over the mountains by way of the pass.
Indian tribes had doubtless made it in crossing from one part of the
country to another. Wild animals, such as the vast herds of buffaloes,
also had occasion to cross the divide according to the stages of the
weather, and their hoofs had helped to make the overland trail.
It was a crisp morning in early September. In that high altitude the
air seemed wonderfully refreshing, and every one felt capable of the
task that now engaged their attention.
The Indian guide assured them that they need have no apprehensions
regarding the passage of the mountains, for he would lead them across
as his people had come on many an occasion.
By the time noon came they had mounted far enough to have a splendid
view of the plateau over which their journey for the last few days had
been made. It was well worth seeing, and many times did the travelers
glance backward over that extended vista, with longing thoughts
concerning the loved ones who, far away toward the east, awaited word
of their homecoming.
Roger had not forgotten what he had heard about those strange sheep
of the mountains, with their great curved horns. He was very eager to
discover whether the tales the Indians told could be true or not, and
many a look did he bend on the crags above them in hope of discovering
a herd of the bighorns.
It was about the middle of the afternoon, and in company with Dick he
was riding at some little distance ahead of the main company, when
Roger actually discovered the object he sought.
[Illustration: "'THERE! YOU CAN SEE HIM MOVE'"]
"Oh, look, Dick! Tell me! is that one of those sheep of the mountains
up there on that little patch of grass? There! you can see him move. He
sees us, but believes himself so secure that he doesn't bother to run
away."
"It must be what you say, Roger, for I can see the horns they told us
about, which curve backward from his head. There, another has come
around that spur of rock. I think there must be a small flock of them
up there."
"But just look at the horns on that buck, Dick; how I would like to be
able to get that pair to carry back with me."
"I'm afraid you'd find it a hard job to get within shooting distance of
them," Dick observed, "for you can see that they seem to be on a little
shelf where that grass grows, and from here I can discover no way of
reaching it, except to jump a chasm."
"Still, there must be some connection above us, Dick, and I've got a
good notion to try it, if only you'll take charge of my horse."
"Well, I can plainly see you will never be happy until you have made
your attempt," Dick told him, "and so I suppose I'll have to do as you
ask. But promise me to be careful where you trust yourself, Roger.
Remember, that you are no mountain goat, and that a fall from such a
height would mean your finish."
"Oh! I promise you to be as cautious as though my name were Dick
instead of Roger. All I want to find out is whether I can get to a
place where my gun will send a bullet fair and square. The moose fell
to you, Dick, and I think I ought to have my chance at these wonderful
jumpers of the mountains."
"While you're gone, Roger, I can stop here and watch what happens. If
you do shoot, and frighten the herd, it may be I can see them do some
of those wonderful things we've heard about, and not half believed. But
watch your steps, Roger."
Eager to discover if there was any way for him to get a shot at the
feeding sheep, Roger hastened away. The last Dick saw of him, he was
climbing the side of the mountain, stooping over as he went so that he
might not be seen by the game he intended to stalk.
For some reason the party had halted below, and did not come along
when Dick expected them. This might be fortunate for Roger, since it
would keep the sheep from being startled by the appearance of numerous
mounted men.
Watching the feeding animals, Dick could now count five in all. The
one with the largest horns he imagined to be the patriarch of the
flock; and he could easily guess that, if Roger found a chance to
shoot, his eyes would fasten upon this prize beast, for the amazing
curved horns had evidently fascinated the young hunter.
As time crept past Dick wondered how his cousin was progressing.
Surely, by now, he must have been able to get within easy range of the
unsuspicious sheep, and could pick out his quarry, if he really meant
to shoot. A good deal would depend on whether Roger believed he could
retrieve his game in case he shot it. If the poor beast had to lie on
the little, grass-covered, slanting plateau Dick did not believe his
chum would waste a load, merely for the sake of killing.
Once or twice he could see the owner of those massive horns raise his
head and sniff the air suspiciously. He even ran a few steps, as though
tempted to give the note of alarm that would send them all plunging
downward from the exposed point of pasturage; but, on second thought,
resisted the temptation.
It may have been sheer pride in his ability to shield his flock from
all harm that caused the buck to refrain from flight. Undoubtedly he
felt secure upon that plateau, and, even should any peril suddenly
threaten, no animal dared follow where he and his family could plunge
headlong.
It cost him dearly to indulge in any such proud boast. The two-legged
creature that was crawling up the face of the rocks possessed a reach
far in excess of any mountain lion or panther that ever tried to make a
meal of a tender ewe--that stick he carried could bridge a chasm when
it spat out flame and smoke, and carry death in its wake.
Dick was getting impatient for something to happen. If Roger had
learned that it was useless for him to try to get a shot, he should be
coming back by now, and not taking any chances.
Just then there came the report of a rifle. The echoes were flung back
and forth among the spurs of the mountains in a weird manner, but Dick
paid no attention to this fact, being too busy watching what took place
up on that elevated plateau.
He saw the patriarch of the flock give a leap into the air, and then
fall over, roll several times, and finally vanish from sight, possibly
falling into some crevice that was not visible to Dick's eyes.
But an even more remarkable thing was happening than the death of the
guardian of the flock. The remainder of the sheep showed symptoms of
alarm. A veritable panic seemed to have struck them, as, rushing pell
mell down the slope, they, one after another, sprang boldly out into
space.
Holding his very breath with awe, Dick saw them strike upon their horns
on the rocks below, and, apparently uninjured, continue their headlong
flight. Then, after all, the amazing stories they had heard from the
Indians were true. Dick felt well repaid for having stood so long,
holding the horses and watching.
He believed he had heard Roger's shrill cry of triumph, though he saw
nothing of his chum, look as he might.
When a little time had passed Dick began to grow somewhat anxious. He
wondered if any harm could have come to Roger, or was the other trying
to get to the fallen sheep that had slipped into a crevice among the
rocks?
Finally Dick could stand it no longer. He decided to secure the two
horses somewhere and follow the route Roger had taken. Once up above,
he ought to be able to get some news of the missing one.
He was soon climbing up the face of the rocky mountain. It was no easy
task, and that Roger had accomplished it without alarming the quarry
was greatly to his credit. Still, there was no sign of him whom Dick
wanted to see.
Dick, with the eye of a born hunter, found it easy to figure out just
how Roger had proceeded. He did this by putting himself in the place of
the other, and arranging his own plan of campaign.
Now and then he came across signs that told him he was on the right
track. Once it was a bruised weed, which Roger must have crushed under
his foot; then again it would turn out to be a piece of loose stone
that he could see had only recently been cast adrift from its former
anchorage.
Little things like this, that might pass unnoticed by any one not a
woodsman, were to this pioneer boy as the printed words on a page to
one who attends school. They told him the story just as positively as
though with his own eyes he saw Roger creeping along over that very
spot, taking advantage of this protruding knob to place his foot upon
it, and using that stubby bush to draw himself up to some new hold
above.
By degrees Dick pushed on. He knew he must be getting very close to
where the other had been when he fired the fatal shot, and still he
saw no signs of Roger.
When he finally arrived at a place where further progress was
impossible, without disclosing himself to the eyes of the sheep,
provided they still grazed there on the grassy slope beyond, Dick
knew he had reached the spot where his chum must have lain as he took
careful aim and pressed the trigger.
Then afterwards he must have pressed on, seeking to reach the bighorn,
fallen into the crevice.
Dick crept on.
He was beginning to feel a strange sense of impending evil. He feared
that something terrible had happened to Roger, and the possibility of
losing the chum whom he loved so well was enough to frighten him.
A minute later he came upon the gun. It had been carefully laid aside,
he could see, which, at least, was evidence that up to then Roger had
not found himself in any difficulty.
Looking beyond, Dick shuddered, for he had glimpsed what appeared to
be a terrible gulf, at the end of the slope down which Roger must have
made his way. If he had in some manner lost his footing, and taken that
plunge, there was almost a certainty that it was all over with him.
When Dick discovered from the signs that some one had been scrambling
wildly over that smooth rock his heart misgave him; and it was with a
great fear that he carefully pressed on until he reached the brink of
the chasm.