216 ACROSS MONGOLIAN PLAINS 



sheep were on the move, running directly toward us. 

 They seemed to be as large as elephants, for never be- 

 fore had I been as close to a living argali. Just as the 

 animals mounted the crest of a rocky ledge, not more 

 than fifty yards away, Na-mon-gin whistled sharply, 

 and the sheep stopped as though turned to stone. 



"Now," he whispered, "shoot." As I brought my 

 rifle to the level it banged in the air. I had been show- 

 ing the hunters how to use the delicate set-trigger, and 

 had carelessly left it on. The sheep instantly dashed 

 away, but there was only one avenue of escape, and 

 that was down hill past me. My second shot broke the 

 hind leg of the big ram; the third struck him in the 

 abdomen, low down, and he staggered, but kept on. 

 The sheep had reached the bottom of the valley before 

 my fourth bullet broke his neck. 



Tom opened fire when the other ram and the ewe 

 appeared at the mouth of the amphitheater, but his 

 rear sight had been loosened in the climb down the 

 cliff, and his shots went wild. It was hard luck, for I 

 was very anxious to have him kill an argali. 



The abdomen shot would have finished the big ram 

 eventually, and I might have killed the other before it 

 crossed the creek; but experience has taught me that 

 it is best to take no chances with a wounded animal in 

 rough country such as this. I have lost too many 

 specimens by being loath to finish them off when they 

 were badly hit. 



My ram was a beauty. His horns were almost equal 

 to those of the record head which Harry had killed on 



