[Illustration]
That night Turgen could sleep little, but tossed and turned in anxiety
lest his charges desert him. For they had become necessary to him,
perhaps more necessary than he to them. The next morning he rose early
and hurried to the feeding ground with a generous supply of grass. Good
or bad, he must know the truth.
His fears were promptly quieted when he saw the rams’ fresh tracks in
the clearing. As usual, he deposited the hay, then stood behind a rock
to wait. But not for long. First to come were the scouts, then the
leader. Then the family. In spite of their dirty-brown coats they were
to him a lovely sight in their strength and grace and daring. The old
leader was like a king arrayed in tatters, fully three feet in height
and nearly six feet from tip to tip. The females, appropriately, were
smaller, with almost straight horns, and held themselves with a kind of
humility.
But it was the lambs to whom Turgen’s heart went out. “The darlings!”
he whispered.
Of course, the shy one who never ventured from her mother’s side was a
female, the gay prankish one a male. If in his play he dared approach
the cliff, the old leader recalled him with a snort to his anxious
parent.
“Eh! They are splendid children.”
The rams seemed at home and at ease wandering about the clearing, and
Turgen was reminded that it took more than a single fright to make
them forsake their accustomed haunts. They were known to be stubbornly
faithful to the place which provided them with food and shelter.
Turgen was starting down the mountain to return home when he noticed
the leader ram circle the clearing excitedly, then with amazing
lightness spring to the top of a rocky ledge where he had a good view
of the mountain side. Sharply he surveyed the region, and sharply gave
warning.
The warning was taken up by the other males, and promptly the females
ranged themselves in a circle with their rumps together and their heads
pointing out. The lambs, held within the circle, pushed against their
elders inquisitively in an effort to get out, where were the other
males.
As a general, the leader was magnificent. From a height of at least
twenty-five feet he dropped easily to the clearing and again made a
full swing around its center edge. On another signal from him the males
took posts along the cliff and the herd froze in position, front legs
braced, horns lowered, all facing the exposed slope.
“An astonishing battle formation!” Turgen said to himself in excitement
and wonder. The rams were prepared to fight off an enemy. But who was
the enemy? “Wolves?” Turgen wondered. He had heard of rams’ exploits in
battle, but never had he seen anything like this.
Intently he watched, and soon he saw three forest wolves approaching
the clearing, enormous beasts made bold and dangerous by hunger through
the winter. His heart beat fast with terror for his herd. What he would
have given for a gun! Lacking that, he made sure that his knife was
ready to hand, even though he knew himself to be a helpless onlooker
should the wolves attack. “For I’m not a bird and not a ram, to go from
crag to crag,” he thought.
[Illustration]
The first wolf had reached the edge of the clearing now. With his mouth
open, revealing powerful tusks, and the hair erect on his spine, he was
terrifying to look at. Turgen heard him growl, a low fierce rumble, and
waited for him to pounce, but instead he flung himself full length
on the ground while still keeping his burning eyes on the rams. Was he
perhaps selecting his prey? Turgen did not know, but he saw how the
female rams drew together in a closer circle behind the leader. It was
quite clear by their staunch attitudes that the rams had no intention
of running away.
What a battle it would be! But what chance had the rams against those
three beasts?
The first wolf, tiring of inactivity and prompted by greed, decided
against waiting longer for his companions and rose to his feet. Slowly
he advanced. With each cautious step Turgen expected him to plunge.
Then an amazing thing happened. The old ram without warning, lowered
his head to the ground and sprang at the advancing enemy. So exactly
had he gauged the distance that his horns struck the wolf in the chest
with an impact strong enough to raise him in the air and send him
hurtling over the cliff. His howls echoed around the mountain as he
fell and so distracted the other two wolves that they turned from the
clearing and raced after their unlucky comrade.
It seemed not more than a minute that it took to wage and win the
battle. Then the herd of rams broke formation to lie down and rest.
Except for the lambs who were as full of play as ever.
Turgen, making his way home on legs which did not seem to belong to
him, lived over again the old ram’s victory. It was as if the triumph
were his own.