THE STORY OF A RAM 65 



notice of my shot, and watched the big ram as he 

 drove his opponent up among some rocks. 



" There he is ! " muttered Henry. 



" Which ? " I gasped despairingly. 



Any one who has shot in glasses will sympathise 

 with my feelings. The sheep were much the colour 

 of their background ; indeed, I could hardly dis- 

 tinguish one from the other. How I prayed that 

 they would come down but a couple of feet where 

 a bank of snow would throw them into relief! But 

 it was not to be. As I fired, the big ram gave a 

 heave and knocked his opponent off the ledge into 

 the snow. Then, giving me one contemptuous glance, 

 he turned and vanished. They were all on the 

 move by this time. The fallen ram had lost him- 

 self among a parcel of ewes, and as I watched them 

 stringing up the steep side of Yarlakan, towering 

 eight thousand feet above me, I realised that my 

 second chance had gone. 



It was dark when we trudged into camp ; my 

 knee was very painful, and I resolved that I would 

 acknowledge the big ram as victor, and let him 

 "gang his ain gait" undisturbed in the future by 

 my aimless shots. That was before supper. Then 

 I began to reflect on his lost glories. I looked 

 across the camp fire and caught Henry's eye. 



" He'd a beautiful head," began Henry. 



" Oh ! a nice head ! " I grudgingly admitted. 



" He'll be just over the other side of Yarlakan," 



continued Henry meditatively. 



E 



