210 ACROSS MONGOLIAN PLAINS 



ter of sliding rock, and three argali dashed into view 

 on the opposite slope. They stopped two hundred 

 yards away. My hunter was frantically whispering, 

 "One more. Don't shoot. Don't shoot." I was at a 

 loss to understand, for I knew there were only three 

 sheep in the draw. The two rams both seemed enor- 

 mous, and I let drive at the leader. He went down 

 like lead — shot through the shoulders. The two others 

 ran a few yards and stopped again. When I fired, the 

 sheep whirled about but did not fall. I threw in an- 

 other shell and held the sight well down. The "putt" 

 of a bullet on flesh came distinctly to us, but the ram 

 stood without a motion. 



The third shot was too much, and he slumped for- 

 ward, rolled over, and crashed to the bottom of the 

 ravine. All the time Na-mon-gin was frantically whis- 

 pering, "Not right. Not right. The big one. The big 

 one." As the second sheep went down I learned the rea- 

 son. Out from the valley directly below us rushed a 

 huge ram, washed with white on the neck and shoulders 

 and carrying a pair of enormous, curling horns. I was 

 too surprised to move. How could four sheep be there, 

 when I knew there were only three! 



Usually I am perfectly cool when shooting and have 

 all my excitement when the work is done, but the un- 

 expected advent of that ram turned on the thrills a 

 bit too soon. I forgot what I had whispered to myself 

 at every shot, "Aim low, aim low. You are shooting 

 down hill." I held squarely on his gray-white shoulder 

 and pulled the trigger. The bullet just grazed his 



