HOW THE SENTINEL FELL. 151 



the toil which he had undergone. Not over seventy- 

 five yards away was a band of sixteen as fine rams as 

 man ever set eyes on. He could hardly believe that 

 he was awake, for there, in plain sight, were the 

 sheep, some lying down chewing their cuds, others 

 feeding, while still others were walking aimlessly 

 about the cove. Now the naturalist began examining 

 each individual member of the band for the purpose 

 of selecting the best specimen. 



There stood a monster, but his colour was a little too 

 light. Ah, there is a grand fellow ! He is the one. 

 But no, his horns are blunted at the points. There 

 is the right one. What magnificent horns ! What 

 a beautiful chestnut colour ! He is the one to adorn 

 the naturalist's exhibit at the World's Fair. The gun 

 is carefully trained on the animal and almost fired, 

 when a glance is given to the one on the top of the 

 crag. He is evidently the patriarch of the band. 

 What a beauty ! Perfect in size, shape, and colour, 

 with immense horns. But he is fully two hundred 

 yards away. Shall the chances betaken? The ques- 

 tion was soon solved, for Dyche made up his mind to 

 have that leader if he never shot another sheep. The 

 band was close enough to give him a second shot 

 before it got out of range, and he trained the Reming- 

 ton on the sentinel. The old guard stood broadside 

 to the hunter and presented a fine target. A puff of 

 smoke, a loud report, and then there was the sound of a 

 mighty rushing and scrambling of hoofs in the cove. 

 Hurriedly slipping a fresh cartridge into the gun, the 

 naturalist ran to the edge of the cove, but just got a 



glimpse of the band disappearing over the slope to- 

 ll 



