HUNTING RAMS 213 



them at his mercy. All were facing in the same direc- 

 tion, looking down the slope up which they had ascended. 

 Below, at the bottom of the valley, was the winding 

 creek, gleaming through the dark green of the spruces. 

 In front of them were piled precipice upon precipice. 

 They were at the edge of a brink which behind them fell 

 fifty feet to a desolate basin of shattered rock filled with 

 boulders and surrounded with turreted cliffs and craggy 

 buttresses. 



Their mixed colors were those common to the sheep 

 of the region, the dark ones predominating; their heads, 

 with the exception of three, were white. Each main- 

 tained an alert watch both in front and along the crest 

 opposite to me. They kept jerking their heads to fasten 

 their piercing gaze in those directions only; no danger 

 could come from behind without their hearing it; the 

 peak was in my direction, where they evidently felt safe 

 from approach. I was facing the sun and could not 

 take a photograph. Only three of the rams had large 

 horns, the rest varying in age from five to three years. 



Lying on my stomach and resting my rifle along my 

 arm on the side of the rock, I fired at the ram which 

 appeared to have the largest horns. At the crack of the 

 rifle all jumped up and for a moment stood in wild con- 

 fusion. The bullet had apparently gone true, for the 

 ram simply stiffened out without rising and died. But 

 another of the rams with large horns was holding his 

 head in the air, his lower jaw falling loosely and bleeding. 

 He suddenly dashed over the precipice, followed by the 

 third with large horns, and by two small rams. Some- 



