At St. Mary's 



out for fish or small game. Hardeman 

 and I had decided at the outset to kill a 

 Rocky Mountain sheep, a " big horn;" 

 and not only had we so decided, but we 

 had so asserted. We might condescend to 

 catch a few trout or to shoot a few grouse 

 in our spare moments, pour passer le 

 temps, but the business of our life while 

 in these mountains would be mutton 

 wild mutton. 



The members of our party were nice 

 gentlemen, and treated our youthful vapor- 

 ings with a serious attention that pleased 

 us. Even our guide, a thirteen-year resi- 

 dent of this locality, did not smile ; but 

 contented himself with saying that he had 

 known " a few gentlemen to miss them 

 sheep at thirty yards the first time they got 

 a shot at them," but that he guessed " these 

 West Point boys knew how to shoot a gun, 

 and how to keep their nerve when in sight 

 of big game." 



We came to know more about that 

 guide and " nerve " and things later on. 



But it did seem ridiculous to hear of a 

 man's getting a shot at a mark the size of 

 a sheep, and missing it at fifty yards. The 

 wonder was how he could miss at all 

 where his bullet could go and not hit 

 at that range. We were not troubled. 



268 



