[Illustration]
The mountain rams had become a part of Turgen’s life almost by
accident. It all began so long ago that he never gave thought to it
until one day Marfa out of curiosity asked him a question which brought
to mind an almost forgotten incident.
“Why do you call them rams?” she wanted to know. “Are not they the same
as sheep?”
“Yes and no,” Turgen answered. “In the family of domestic sheep only
the males have horns. But all wild rams have horns. Of course, those of
the female rams are smaller.”
Marfa nodded. “But is it not strange that only recently you came to
love the rams? Surely you knew them before.”
“Of course I knew them. When I was young I used to hunt them.”
“You killed them?” Aksa asked in a shocked voice.
“I did,” Turgen admitted. “It was a sin. Unfortunately, one has to live
many years to understand what is good and what evil. Living alone is a
help to thinking, and often something will happen to open a man’s eyes.”
He paused, got up and put wood on the fire, sat down again and puffed
on his pipe.
“Let me tell you what happened to me twenty or more years ago. It was
winter. November. Government officials called to order me to act as
guide to an important foreigner, a hunter. The man was impressive--tall
and stern and clean-shaven. I couldn’t understand a word he said
but an interpreter explained that he had come to hunt our mountain
rams. I wasn’t very anxious to go with him, but what could I do? The
authorities insisted.
“Well, I led them up the mountain. A hunt--pah! It was a picnic. There
were about twenty people in the party, including Russian and Yakut
officials. There was so much to eat and drink that soon all were acting
as if they were insane--shooting at everything and anything until the
hills echoed with their noise. One thing I must admit though. They had
excellent guns.”
Tim ventured an observation. “With such guns they undoubtedly killed
many animals.”
Turgen’s smile was contemptuous. “No. How could they? They couldn’t
even aim straight. In two weeks they killed two wolves, ten rabbits,
and one bear they roused out of his lair. As for rams, I confess that I
was crafty and led them places where rams were usually not to be found.
Yet a family of five did appear suddenly out of nowhere. O, Lord, what
firing there was! They all fired at once, seized by greed. And somehow
they managed to kill the largest one, who was probably old and the last
in line. At least, that’s the only way I can explain their luck. The
poor fellow fell, and while the other rams vanished so quickly that not
even the dogs could catch up with them, the hunters threw themselves
upon him. What a disgusting spectacle it was. And for what? So that
the important visitor could have a pelt and some horns. The horns were
truly fine. ‘He will brag about them for the rest of his life,’ the
interpreter said.
“It was this brutal murder,” Turgen went on, “that awoke in me pity for
the rams. I was more sly after that and led the party only to places
when rams would never go. When the officials grew angry, complaining
that I was a poor guide and that because of me they were disgraced
before the foreigner, I answered: ‘What can I do? Your shooting has
frightened the animals away and they have run for perhaps a hundred
miles.’ They complained and threatened some more. Then they held a
council to decide where they could find another guide. But the Yakuts
told them that Turgen was the best in the whole region. The affair
might have ended differently, but it got cold suddenly, there was
a blizzard, and the important visitor left post haste for his own
country. Of course, I rejoiced that the rams were now left in peace.
But for several winters I did not see them. They had gone from here.
In time, as you know, they returned. I saw them rarely. They came and
vanished. Still I was happy to have them living again in my mountains.”
As they listened intently, Marfa and the children shared Turgen’s fears
and happiness. Now they understood his affection for the rams.