152 CAMP-FIRES OF A NATURALIST. 



wards the woods. He was too late for another shot, 

 as the last of the band went into the timber as the 

 gun was raised. 



Turning his attention to the old ram at which he 

 had fired, Dyche hastened, as rapidly as the lay of the 

 ground would permit, to the top of the crag. He 

 was sure that he had not missed, but when he 

 reached the spot not a sign of the ram was to be 

 seen. Not a drop of blood, not a hair was found 

 which would indicate that a wounded sheep had ever 

 stood on that rock. The hunter's disappointment 

 was almost too great to be borne. He had left a sure 

 shot in a vain attempt to accomplish too much, and 

 had lost the best opportunity he had ever had to se- 

 cure a fine specimen. 



Making a circuit of the crag, he saw where the 

 ram had bounded away towards the woods. The 

 tracks were plain, but not a drop of blood was to be 

 seen anywhere along the trail. With a feeling of 

 disappointment that almost amounted to despair, 

 Dyche followed the trail mechanically. But he knew 

 there was no possible hope of overtaking that band. 

 Slowly he followed the tracks down the slope until 

 he found where they joined those of the main band, 

 and then he could see the broad trail where the flee- 

 ing sheep had ploughed up the ground in their mad 

 leaps down the declivity. Two days' hunting and six 

 hours of most wearisome crawling had been wasted, 

 all because he was not satisfied with what was in his 

 grasp, but must reach out for the unattainable. 



With anything but pleasant thoughts the natural- 

 ist followed the trail of the fleeing animals through 



