Among the High Hills. 107 



far aft of the shoulder, but ranging forward. He raced 

 after the others, but soon fell behind, and turned off on 

 his own line, at a walk, with drooping head. As he bled 

 freely I followed his tracks, found him, very sick, in a 

 washout a quarter of a mile beyond, and finished him with 

 another shot. After dressing him, and cutting off the 

 saddle and hams, as well as the head, I walked back to 

 camp, breakfasted, and rode Manitou to where the sheep 

 lay. Packing it securely behind the saddle, and shifting 

 the blanket roll to in front of the saddle-horn, I led 

 the horse until we were clear of the Bad Lands ; then 

 mounted him, and was back at the ranch soon after mid- 

 day. The mutton of a fat young mountain ram, at this 

 season of the year, is delicious. 



Such quick success is rare in hunting sheep. Gen- 

 erally each head has cost me several days of hard, faithful 

 work ; and more than once I have hunted over a week 

 without any reward whatsoever. But the quarry is so 

 noble that the ultimate triumph — sure to come, if the 

 hunter will but persevere long enough — atones for all 

 previous toil and failure. 



Once a lucky stalk and shot at a bighorn was almost 

 all that redeemed a hunt in the Rockies from failure. I 

 was high among the mountains at the time, but was dogged 

 by ill luck ; I had seen but little, and I had not shot very 

 well. One morning I rose early, and hunted steadily un- 

 til midday without seeing anything. A mountain hunter 

 was with me. At noon we sat down to rest, and look 

 over the country, from behind a shield of dwarf evergreens, 

 on the brink of a mighty chasm. The rocks fell down- 



