AFTER MOUNTAIN GOATS.
The two days following were unmarked by any special incident. Jimmie
rode with the boys, becoming stronger and lighter-hearted every day.
And yet they noticed a curious thing about the waif. Whenever the
mysterious man was spoken of he grew somber and silent. It was as if
some link existed between himself and this wanderer of the mountains.
The boys put this down to the fact that possibly Jimmie felt that, like
himself, this outcast of the hills was friendless and alone.
It was on the evening of the second day that they made camp beside one
of those beautiful little lakes that nestle in the bosom of the mighty
Rockies. Across the sheet of blue water the color of turquoise, a ridge
rose steeply from the very water’s edge. The pines on it were thinner
than usual, and appeared singularly free from underbrush. Far above the
lake the smooth ascent broke off abruptly, and there appeared to be
beyond it a rocky plateau intervening between it and the farther wall
of rock and snow that piled upward till it seemed to brush the sky.
While they were making camp Persimmons was gazing about and suddenly he
drew Ralph’s attention to some moving objects on the snow-covered crest
above the plateau. Mountain Jim was appealed to and decided that the
objects were mountain goats.
“A big herd of them, too,” he declared.
“Have a look through the binoculars,” urged Ralph, borrowing the
professor’s glasses which he was far too busy with his rock specimens
to use. Indeed, he hailed Ralph’s excited announcement with only mild
interest, being at that moment entering in his note-book a voluminous
account of his discovery of some metamorphic rock in a region where
none was thought previously to exist.
The glasses revealed the objects as mountain goats beyond a doubt. They
were big, white fellows with high, humped shoulders and delicate hind
quarters and black hoofs and horns. They looked not unlike miniature
bisons, although of course the resemblance was only superficial.
While they still gazed at the moving objects on the snow-capped ridge,
Mountain Jim suddenly uttered a sharp exclamation.
“Look close now,” said he, “for you’ll see something worth looking at
in a minute or two, or I miss my guess.”
The goats were at the summit of what appeared to be an absolutely
precipitous rock wall. From where they watched it did not appear that
a fly could have found foothold on its surface. The goats had paused.
Ralph drew in a deep breath.
“Gracious! I do believe they are going to try to get down it,” he
exclaimed.
“And that ain’t all,” declared Mountain Jim. “They’re going to succeed,
too. Watch ’em.”
The leader of the goats gave a leap that must have been fully twenty
feet to a ridge which was hardly perceptible even through the glasses.
He stood poised there for a second and then made a breath-catching
plunge off into space. The place on the ledge that he had just vacated
was immediately occupied by one of his followers, while he himself
found footing on nothing, so far as the boys could see. It was a
thrilling performance to watch the goats as they made their way down
that rock-face to the feeding grounds. Sometimes the leader would take
a leap that would make the performance of a flying squirrel seem tame
by comparison. And his followers, among them some ewes, were by no
means behind him in feats of agility.
“I’ve seen ’em come down a gully that looked like a chimney with one
side out,” said Mountain Jim as he watched. “Old hunters say that when
they miss their footing they save their heads from being caved in by
landing on their horns, but I don’t take any stock in that.”
“Don’t they ever miss their footing?” cried Ralph wonderingly.
“Well, I’ve traveled aroun’ these parts fer a good many years,” replied
Jim judicially, “and I ain’t never found hair nor hide of a carcass
killed that way, and no more I reckon did anybody else.”
Jim went on to describe to the boys how wise and cunning the mountain
goats are, gifted with an intelligence far beyond that possessed by
most wild creatures. He also related to them an anecdote concerning an
ewe whom he had seen defend her kid from the attack of an eagle. The
eagle had swooped down on the kid and knocked it head over heels. It
was about to fix its talons into the fleecy coat and fly off to its
eerie with the little creature, when the old mother became aware of
what was going on. Like a thunderbolt she charged down on the eagle,
which tried in vain to get away. But its own greediness proved its
undoing, for its talons were tangled in the young goat’s coat and it
could not rise, and the mother speedily tramped and butted it to death.
While she was doing this some old rams looked on as if it were no
concern of theirs. They seemed to know that the mother was quite able
to fight her own battles.
“Think there’s any chance of our getting a shot at them?” asked young
Ware, vibrant with excitement.
“Don’t see why not,” responded Mountain Jim. “It’s not a hard climb
up there, and I reckon they’ll stay there till to-morrow anyhow, as
there’s pasturage and grass on the plateau and they’re working down to
it.”
The professor demurred at first at allowing the boys to go hunting the
goats, but after Jim had promised to bring them back safe and sound
he gave his consent. Early the next day, therefore, the party set
out, leaving only Jimmie and the professor in camp. Jimmie had by this
time become quite a valuable assistant to the scientist, and the quiet
occupation of collecting specimens appeared to suit him far better than
the more strenuous sports the rugged boys enjoyed.
For a couple of hours, after skirting the little lake, they climbed
steadily. Up they went among, apparently, endless banks of climbing
pines, and traversed strips of loose gravel here and there that sent
clattering pebbles down the slope under their feet.
Then they left the last of the dwindling pine belt behind them and
pushed along on a slope strewn with broken rock and debris that made
walking arduous.
“Great sport this, hunting mountain goats, ain’t it, boys?” said Jim
with a grin as the boys begged him to rest a while, for Jim appeared to
be made of chilled steel and gristle when it came to climbing.
“I’m all right,” declared Harry Ware stoutly, although his panting
sides and streaming face belied his words, “but how about lunch?”
“Yes, cantering crackers! I’m hungry as one of those lions that tried
to gobble up Ralph,” declared Persimmons, who always had, as may have
been noticed, an excellent appetite.
“Don’t be thinking of lunch yet,” admonished Jim. “You’re a fine bunch
of hunters. The first thing we want to do is to get a crack at those
goats, ain’t it? If we don’t keep on, they will.”
That settled the question of lunch, and after a brief rest they kept
pushing on up the mountain side. A chill wind was now blowing from
the vast snowfields, and the cool of it fanned their flushed cheeks
refreshingly.
They reached a stretch of rocky ground made smooth and slippery by
melting snow from the ridges above. The scrap broke off on the verge of
an almost precipitous rift, in the depths of which a torrent roared.
They stopped for a minute upon the dizzy ledge of rock and gazed down
above battalions of somber trees upon the lake below. They could see
the camp and the ponies, dwarfed to specks, moving about far beneath.
Harry Ware and Percy Simmons shouted and waved their hats, but Jim
instantly checked this.
“Are you hunting goats or out on a picnic,” he admonished the abashed
boys.
“Huh! Not much of a picnic about this,” grunted Hardware in an audible
aside.
“Cheer up, it will get worse before it gets better,” said Ralph with a
laugh.
A short distance further on they came upon some green grass growing in
a marshy spot, kept damp by the constant running of silvery threads of
melted snow.
“Now look to your rifles,” warned Jim. “We’ll be using the shooting
irons before long, or I miss my guess.”
They crept cautiously forward, taking advantage of every bit of cover
they could find. They were above timber line now, and only a few
scattered bits of brush or big rocks afforded them the hiding places
they desired.
It was after they had been crouching behind a big rock for some minutes
that Mountain Jim, who had just peered over the top, brought them to
their feet with a whisper that electrified them.
“They’re coming,” he said, in a voice that was tense with a hunter’s
excitement, “don’t move or make a sound, and they’ll come right on top
of us.”
The wind was blowing from the goats toward the hunters, and the
magnificent animals appeared to have no idea of what lay in store for
them beyond the rocks where the boys crouched. There were twenty or
more of the goats, including several bucks, great snow-white creatures
of regal mien with splendid horns and coats. The boys were conscious of
an almost painful excitement as they waited.
[Illustration: Four rifles cracked and two of the goats sprang into the
air and crashed down again dead.--_Page 285._]
But Jim, like a good general, knew when to hold his fire. Peering
through a crevice in the rocks he watched the advance of the stately
creatures. They appeared in no hurry, and under the mighty snow-covered
shoulder of the mountain they moved along serenely, cropping the grass
and from time to time skipping about playfully.
“Now!” shouted Mountain Jim suddenly.
Like one lad the three boys leaped to their feet. Four rifles cracked
and two of the goats sprang into the air and crashed down again dead.
Both Harry Ware and Persimmons had missed their marks. The goats
wheeled in wild confusion. They snorted and snorted and mah-h-hed in
a terrified manner. With a whoop Percy Simmons dashed toward them,
yelling at the top of his voice.
“Come back!” roared Jim frantically, but the boy was far too excited
to heed him. He rushed after the fleeing goats at top speed, shouting
like an Indian.
Suddenly one of the old bucks wheeled. The creature was as big as a
small calf, and almost as powerful as an ox. It saw Percy and lowered
its head.
“Gibbering gondolas! He’s coming for me!” exclaimed the boy, and so
indeed the infuriated old buck was.
“Fire at him!” roared the others, seeing the boy’s predicament, but
Persimmons could only stare stupidly at the great buck, as with lowered
horns, it dashed toward him.
“Run! Shoot! Do something!” came from Jim in a volley of shouts.
“Look out!” roared Hardware, as if such a warning was necessary at all.
“Get out of his way!” cried Ralph.