WILD SHEEP. 23 



handed. When, oh when, would I learn to think before pressing 

 the trigger? 



We started homeward depressed and chilled, when suddenly came 

 one of those turns in fortune, when the fickle Dame seems to take pity 

 on the one she has flouted, and gives him one more chance. On 

 rounding the shoulder, we spied the herd away on the shady side of 

 a distant ridge. By rights we should never have seen that herd 

 again, but there it was, and the sheep instead of fleeing with those 

 long graceful bounds, that take them over the hillsides eight feet 

 at a jump, were standing gazing along theitf back-trail. 



Dropping outi of sight, we doubled round the hill top, crossed 

 a grassy slope, skirted the sunny side of the ridge on which we had 

 seen the sheep, and topped it between two rocky crags. There, sure 

 enough, was the old ram with two ewes, still foolishly gazing along 

 their back-trail. This time I made no mistake, and almost as I 

 pressed the trigger I heard the thud of a bullet which has found its 

 meat. 



Once more the ram dashed off, vanishing into the next hollow 

 and reappearing on the next ridge. The next time we saw the herd, 

 there were only the ewes. A few minutes later I was bending over 

 my prize, admiring the head, which bore the longest homs I had yet 

 measured. Dame Fortune had indeed showed her smiling face, like 

 old Sol bursting through a rift in the thunder clouds. 



The horns measured 50 inches in length, and had a basal cir- 

 cumference of 17i inches. The old ram stood 44 inches at the shoulder 

 and must have weighed at least 300 lbs. It was all the hunters 

 could do to pack home, hide, horn, and the four quarters. 



By six o'clock we were back in camp. Soon the Captain turned 

 up with a nice head, so that we entered a successful day in our diaries. 



Next day I shot a wild goat, and my connpanion secured a second 

 ram, but as we each wanted one more ram we decided to stay on a 

 little longer. 



The weather turned in bitterly cold on the following day, and 

 I experienced one of the hardest, and most disappointing days of my 

 life. Owing to the extreme cold the bolt of my rifle refused to work 

 with sufficient force to discharge the cartridges. Not realizing this, 

 but putting it down to defective cartridges I kept on. I had the 

 terrible sensation of coming upon four different rams, with a useless 

 gun in my hands. The annoying thing was that after I had pulled 

 the trigger several times, and the sheep had taken alarm, and were 

 pretty well out of range, the rifle usually began, to work. 



