[Illustration]
By stepping on to a ledge outside his door, Turgen on a clear day had
a wonderful view of the valley below and the mountains above him. When
he tired of watching the tiny figures of men and women scurrying about
at the foot of his hill, he had only to turn his eyes upward to see a
different and fascinating sight. For there, dodging among the crags,
were specks which he knew to be wild rams.
“How do they live?” he asked himself one evening. The hills were barren
except for sparse tufts of moss, an occasional thin clump of grass,
and now and then a tough, hardy shrub that could not contain much
nourishment.
His curiosity and pity aroused, Turgen watched the rams intently all
that season and the next. He could make out nine individuals of what
he assumed to be a family--or, as he called it, a tribe. In summer
one lamb--or it might be two--were added to the number, but they
disappeared with cold weather.
Then Turgen began to worry. For with the cold weather came snow to
cover the moss and grass and dry up the meagre shrubs. Even at a
distance he could sense the animals’ despair as they searched avidly
beneath the snow for any poor morsel to chew upon. Their grey-brown
wool hung loosely on them now, and they moved indifferently, without
spirit. Unless there was a hint of danger. Then they would lift their
heads proudly and take themselves into the distance with incredible
lightness and speed.
“Poor things.” Turgen spoke his thoughts aloud. “To think that I used
to hunt you to kill you! What harm are you to anyone? You who ask only
for freedom.”
But pity could not help them. He must find a way to give them practical
aid. He considered one thing, then another. At last he fixed upon a
plan.
First he built a light sleigh which he loaded with hay. Then, putting
on skis, he pulled the sleigh to the ridge of the next mountain, dumped
the hay, and returned home. Not a ram was in sight, but he could feel
their inquisitive and fearful eyes upon him from behind the boulders
farther up the hill.
From his own door he watched them approach the hay warily, circle it
and trample it, and stoop to nibble at it. They seemed to fear a trap.
But when he went back to the spot the hay was gone. After that he took
frequent offerings of food to them, and gradually the rams came to
accept his gifts without hesitation. Although they never approached
him when he visited the feeding ground, he caught glimpses of them in
hiding, awaiting his coming. In order to gain their greater confidence,
he made it a point never to carry a gun. He even gave up his habit of
carrying an iron-tipped stick which helped him in climbing. For he knew
that all animals fear the rod which gives forth noise and fire.
It was not easy to conquer the fear of these wild creatures. It needed
patience as well as understanding. But Turgen had both. Season after
season he gave them care and attention, and was rewarded by knowing
that they accepted him and depended upon him even though they did not
fully trust him. A time came when they no longer hid from him but
stood watching from a safe distance as if to determine what sort of
being this was from whom they received nothing but good. And he had
another satisfaction. The food he gave them worked a miracle in their
appearance. They were no longer the sad, dishevelled animals of former
days.
[Illustration]
His heart leaped for joy one day when he went to the feeding ground
and discovered the entire ram family gathered in a group on a little
mound near by.
“Eh!” Turgen declared with pleasure. “You are truly a good-looking
band--strong and healthy. And you eat now as if you enjoyed it.”
The rams eyed him gravely, with an expression that might have been
gratitude on their long homely faces.
“Yes,” they seemed to be saying. “Perhaps your pampered cattle down
below would not thrive on this fare, but for savages like us it is
nourishing. You see, we are not looking to put on fat, merely to
survive.”
With these friends, who had become like his own children, Turgen knew
that he would never again be lonely as before.