GREAT RAM OF THE SHANSI MOUNTAINS 195 



leading down a knifelike outcrop to the bottom of an- 

 other valley. I felt sure that he would turn eastward 

 toward the grassy uplands, but Na-mon-gin, my Mon- 

 gol hunter, pointed north to a sea of ragged mountains. 

 We groaned as we looked at those towering peaks; 

 moreover, it seemed hopeless to hunt for a single animal 

 in "that chaos of ravines and canons. 



We had already learned, however, that the Mongol 

 knew almost as much about what a sheep would do as 

 did the animal itself. It was positively uncanny. Per- 

 haps we would see a herd of sheep half a mile away. 

 The old fellow would seat himself, nonchalantly fill his 

 pipe and puff contentedly, now and then glancing at the 

 animals. In a few moments he would announce what 

 was about to happen, and he was seldom wrong. 



Therefore, when he descended to the bottom of the 

 valley we accepted his dictum without a protest. At 

 the creek bed Harry and his young hunter left us to 

 follow a deep ravine which led upward a little to the 

 left, while Na-mon-gin and I climbed to the crest by 

 way of a precipitous ridge. 



Not fifteen minutes after we parted, Harry's rifle 

 banged three times in quick succession, the reports roll- 

 ing out from the gorge in majestic waves of sound. A 

 moment later the old Mongol saw three sheep silhouetted 

 for an instant against the sky as they scrambled across 

 the ridge. Then a voice floated faintly up to me from 

 out the canon. 



"I' v e g o t a f-i-n-e r-a-m," it said, "a b-e-a-u-t-y," 

 and even at that distance I could hear its happy ring. 



