CHAPTER IV 



THE STORY OF A RAM 



WHEN I began the last chapter I had no thought of 

 drifting into a discussion 011 game reserves. However, 

 I did, so there's an end of it. Now I will ask you 

 to accompany me to a camp on Bridge River on the 

 morning of 5th November 1906. There it was that 

 the Incompetent One and I sallied forth together for 

 my first day's hunting in British Columbia. After a 

 long and tiring day in deepish snow I shot a small 

 ram. He was, it is true, far from being a good 

 head, but he was, or had been, a real live bighorn, 

 and I took it as a good omen. Never was confidence 

 more misplaced ! For the next eleven days did I 

 toil up and down those snow-clad mountains and 

 never even fire a shot ! 



Two days after the death of my sheep, Burton 

 killed a couple of nice goats, but it seemed as if I was 

 never even going to see anything again, and I got 

 thoroughly disheartened. 



We changed guides and I went with Henry. 

 Not a bit of use ! Burton went off with the Incom- 

 petent One, strolled up a small hill at the back of 

 the camp, sat down for lunch, lit a fire the luxurious 

 beggar ! and a good ram came up and warmed him- 

 self until he got shot for his cheek ! 



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