THE STORY OF A RAM 75 



wake of those great leaps it seemed that my hope 

 might be justified ; but as the patches turned to 

 spots, and the spots to specks, it flickered and died 

 out. I will not tell you of the long walk home, 

 which still haunts me like a nightmare ; of the frozen 

 river, on whose banks we wandered like a couple 

 of lost souls about the Styx, seeking for a crossing ; 

 of the woods we passed, their blackened and ghastly 

 pines, topped by a few stars, rising above us, and 

 the white elusive snow beneath our feet ; nor of the 

 thankfulness with which we saw the camp fires 

 gleaming beneath us beside the frozen creek. 

 Through it all I had but one thought : that I had 

 lost my ram ! He may not have had the grand head 

 with which I credited him ; sometimes I try to con- 

 sole myself thus, though in my heart of hearts I 

 know the consolation is but vain, for I do not think 

 that sixteen inches would have spanned the girth 

 of those horns. His head may hang in the halls 

 of some stalker, who, more fortunate than I, could 

 seize upon the chances which the gods presented ; 

 but I cannot help hoping that this is not so, and 

 that when the spring comes again decking the hills 

 with verdure, his limpid eyes may still look upon 

 Yarlakan flushing pink at the greeting of the dawn, 

 and that he may find the peace which came to me 

 among the shadows which lurk about its base. 



