The White Sheep of Kenai Peninsula 



away by the time we reached the place where I had 

 expected to shoot, and were at too long a range to 

 make my aim certain. If we had had plenty of 

 time, we should have worked up the ridge nearer, 

 and this Hunter was still anxious for me to do, but 

 when I saw one of the sheep suddenly raise his 

 head and look intently in our direction I knew my 

 only chance was to take the long shot. I had seen 

 what the .30-40 Winchester rifle would do in the 

 hills, and the question was one of holding. How- 

 ever, I could count on several shots before they ran 

 out of sight, and even at such a distance I hoped 

 to get one and possibly the pair. Both sheep car- 

 ried good heads, but I aimed at the one 

 which stood broadside to me. Hunter, who had 

 the glasses, told me afterward that the ram with 

 the more massive horns got away, but I succeeded 

 in wounding the other so that he was unable to 

 move. Knowing he would shortly die, and that 

 I could find him the next morning, we at once 

 started at our best pace for camp. 



We only reached our tent at nine o'clock that 

 night, both completely fagged out. A cup of tea 

 made us feel better, but it was late before I could 

 get to sleep. Such days are a bit too much for 

 steady practice, but if they end in success the 

 trophy means all the more. 



IPS 



