Hunting at High Altitudes 



putting two new cartridges in my rifle, the ram 

 reappeared on top of the hill and without a 

 moment's hesitation returned full drive on his back 

 trail. I gleefully said to myself, "Luck has 

 changed at last," and so patiently and, as I thought, 

 very coolly, waited for him to come nearer, mean- 

 while admiring and counting as my very own his 

 magnificent head. On he came, and not until he was 

 within ten or fifteen feet of me did I wave my 

 rifle at him and yell. He reared on his hindlegs, 

 the most startled sheep that it has ever been my 

 good or bad fortune to see. I threw the rifle to 

 my face and pulled and pulled and pulled. I know 

 that I came very near pulling those two triggers 

 off, and before I could realize what had happened, 

 the ram made a lunge into the thick underbrush at 

 one side and was gone. I had forgotten to cock 

 either barrel ! 



I now made my way to camp as fast as I could 

 leg it, with my hat brim well down over my eyes, 

 determined to look neither to the right nor to the 

 left, for I had come to the conclusion that there 

 was no use trying to buck against luck like that. I 

 soon arrived at camp, and hardly waiting for din- 

 ner, crawled into my sleeping bag, like Job re- 

 fusing to be comforted. The next day we broke 

 camp and went on to Bozeman. I hope that that 



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