THE FINAL HUNT FOR RAMS 241 



yards before coming to the two rocks from where I ex- 

 pected to get a shot. Nearer I came, my noiseless mocca- 

 sins answering well to the occasion, until, with rifle 

 cocked, I was ready to attempt a running shot if the 

 rams should suddenly dash in sight. Reaching the rocks 

 I looked over. I was not quite far enough, and before me 

 was a steep incline of ten feet, all loose, broken rock. 

 Sitting down, I carefully prepared each step by arranging 

 the rocks with my hand. Then with rifle at my shoulder, 

 I slowly rose. 



In spite of my caution the rams had heard something 

 suspicious. Four were standing just below the cliffs and, 

 as my head came in sight, were looking directly at me. 

 They were a hundred yards away. The dark one with 

 big horns was still hidden with the rest of the band nearer 

 to the foot of the cliff. One of the rams looking at me 

 had large horns. While the four were standing still, a 

 clatter of hoofs sounded. Off-hand, I quickly shot at the 

 largest one in sight, and saw him fall as the whole band 

 dashed diagonally up the canon on my left. There was 

 no time to rest my rifle. Four rams were running to- 

 gether up the opposite slope, the big dark one leading. 

 He fell dead to my shot. Another large one ran up the 

 bottom and, firing, I heard the bullet strike him. One 

 that was running more to the left suddenly turned and 

 came running toward me. He was the whitest of all, 

 and I killed him in his tracks. By that time all were 

 running well up the slope, and a wounded ram followed 

 fast enough to gain on them. I fired once more at him, 

 but he kept on with the others and went over the crest. 



