THE STORY OF A RAM 63 



hundreds of feet above them, at the top of the hill, 

 was the little band which claimed my friend as its 

 lord. Two and a half hours later, tired and pant- 

 ing, we reached the summit. It had been hard 

 work, and in one place dangerous. Almost sheer 

 below me I had seen the tops of the fir trees, 

 looking like pin points waiting to impale anything 

 which fell ; but we had successfully crossed the dan- 

 gerous point and were getting near our quarry. 



My bad luck was still in the ascendant. Cau- 

 tiously as we advanced, we could not prevent the 

 dry snow crackling beneath our feet, nor deafen a 

 ewe which stood staring at us over a rock seventy 

 yards off. 



By the way, unlike a stag, whose eye one can 

 plainly see up to eighty yards, a sheep's eye is 

 almost invisible at sixty. The white nose is most 

 conspicuous. 



In the scattered firs below I could see more 

 sheep, among them a ram. 



"Fire!" said Henry, "fire!" 



Very foolishly I did so, and the drama of 

 yesterday was repeated with great exactness, save 

 that my shot did not even touch him. 



It is impossible to lay down any law about such 

 shots. If one leaves it hoping for a better chance, 

 it is odds on that such a chance never presents 

 itself. Then you blame yourself for not firing. 

 Fire, and you kick yourself for not exercising the 

 virtue of patience. We ploughed doggedly down 



