The Boy Scouts In The Rockies Part 14

They glanced around rather fearfully for some little time after that; but as nothing was seen again of the mountain terror, they finally concluded that the incident was closed.

Again their thoughts went out toward the singular game they had come after. Many an ambitious hunter had sought to shoot a big-horn sheep in the Rockies, day after day, and was compelled to give it up in the end as useless, so Toby had informed them. The conditions were generally very difficult, and the game so shy. Besides, their sense of impending danger seemed to be abnormally developed; and on account of the rocky formation of the slopes where they found bunches of gra.s.s in the crevices, it was often next to impossible to stalk them from leeward.

This being the case the tired boys were thrilled to the core when Toby finally announced that he had had a glimpse of the game. Of course they became wildly excited, and demanded that he show them. Creeping carefully up to a certain outcropping rock, they peered around its edge. And for the first time in their lives Davy, Step Hen and Smithy found themselves looking upon the queer animals that seem to live in the wildest parts of the Rockies, taking delight in bounding from crag to crag, and baffling the skill of the most experienced chamois hunters to get within gun-shot of their lofty eyries.

There were seven or eight of the sheep, and as they were really just within gun range the boys could get a splendid view of them. They admired the tremendous curved horns greatly, and Step Hen quivered with eagerness to say that he had shot a Rocky Mountain sheep all by himself; while Davy clicked his camera several times, so that he at least might have a picture, in case they could get no nearer.

"I can't be sure of even hitting one from here," whispered Step Hen, turning appealingly to the guide. "Ain't it possible to creep up closer, Toby? Oh! please fix it for us, won't you?" just as though the guide had it in his power to do anything they wanted.

But fortunately the lay of the mountain allowed Toby to arrange it; and he soon mapped out a route that they might crawl along, keeping well hidden from the feeding sheep, and getting gradually closer.

Besides, it happened that luck was working overtime in their favor; because the animals happened to be feeding toward them. Now only two or three could be seen, nibbling at the tufts of gra.s.s, or leaping across some small fissure that tried to block them from other tempting pastures; and then again the whole seven would be in sight at the same moment.

After advancing slowly and carefully for some time Toby made motions that they dare not go any further. He also let them know by signs that, as the sheep were still coming in a line toward them, all they had to do was to lie quiet, and wait until the right moment.

That was a period of great excitement to the scouts, two of them clutching their guns in hands that would tremble in spite of them; while the third was trying to find the best spot to hold his kodak, with a view of snapping off a picture just before the critical second came for shooting.

Step Hen and Smithy had even gone so far as to select which of the seven sheep they hoped to get; and as they lay there, peeping out from their rocky shelter, it can be taken for granted that each of them had eyes for his particular quarry only.

And then finally Toby touched the shoulder of the kodak owner, as a signal that he had better be getting to work.

CHAPTER XIV.

THE SHEEP HUNTERS.

Davy Jones had made all his arrangements. He had only to press the b.u.t.ton, when the slight "click" told that his picture was an accomplished fact, and that if the hunters did as well, the expedition might be set down as a glorious success.

Davy had carried his shotgun fastened to his back with a strap, while he worked his little camera. Now he reached out for the gun, although realizing the folly of trying to do any execution at that distance with buckshot cartridges.

"Now!" said the guide, suddenly.

It would seem as though he spoke aloud purposely, knowing what the effect was apt to be. Every feeding big-horn raised its head instantly, and for the s.p.a.ce of several seconds stood there as though carved out of stone.

A better chance for a shot could not be imagined.

"Bang!"

"Whang!"

That was Smithy firing first, and the second report told that Step Hen's little thirty-thirty was on the job instantly.

One big-horn sheep fell over on the rock, and kicked several times. It might have fallen over the ledge only that somehow the body seemed to become fast in a crotch; and there it lay in a tantalizing position, for only by a most difficult climb downward could it be reached at all.

"Oh! I hit mine, and he's fallen down there!" cried Smithy in a voice that just thrilled with wild exultation; and hardly had he said this than he added, in a deeply crushed tone: "Oh! wasn't that too cruel of him now, to just bound off on his horns like they were skies, and get on his feet again? There he goes now, and see him limp, will you, fellows? I hit him, yes, I surely did!"

"Well, he's gone, and that's the last you're likely to see of him, more's the pity," said Step Hen; "but look at _my_ game, would you, stuck there in among them rocks? Toby, we must manage to get him, some way or other. Tell me how it can be done, won't you?"

The guide scratched his head, as if himself a bit puzzled.

"Only one way I kin see, boys," he observed, "and that means a lot more climbing for us."

"You mean we'll just have to work around, and get up there above the place where _my_ big-horn lies, as dead as a door nail; is that it, Toby?" questioned Step Hen, perhaps unconsciously placing great emphasis on that p.r.o.noun; nor could he be blamed for feeling proud, if half that the guide had told them concerning the difficulties encountered by hunters of Rocky Mountain sheep were true.

"Just what I had in mind," replied Toby.

"Then let's make a start," urged Step Hen. "My stars! I wouldn't like to lose that splendid fellow for anything. Just think of having that pair of horns to put in our club room at home, Davy. I hope you got a good picture, too; because we c'n have an enlargement taken, and hang it under _my_ horns."

"I don't see any growing out of your head, yet, Step Hen," chuckled Davy, as he and the third scout fell in behind the others, and started forth.

One thing made it a little easier now; they did not have to be so particular about moving softly, since their aim had been accomplished, and they had shot their bolt.

But the way was rough enough at the best. Smithy had a hard time of it. He was forever bruising his hands, for they were not so tough in the palms as those of the other boys, who had been accustomed to work and hard play. Besides, often he took a little slide and in this fas.h.i.+on tore his trousers as well as made quite a gash in his leg. But the other boys rather fancied that Smithy, unable to wholly overcome his former love for fine clothes, grieved more on account of that big rent in his khaki trousers, than he did for the bleeding leg, though it must have pained him considerably.

Still, he did not murmur; Smithy was showing much more grit than either of the others had ever dreamed he possessed. Like b.u.mpus, it only seemed to need a fitting opportunity to come to the surface; as is the case with many backward boys.

As they turned an angle of the rocks, Step Hen gave a shout.

"What's this? What's this?" he called.

"Oh! please don't shoot!" shrilled Smithy, wonderfully excited again; "It must be the sheep I struck with my bullet; see how the poor thing drags that leg after him? Let me have the pleasure of knocking him over, and putting him out of pain?"

"Get busy then, or he'll give you the slip after all. Quick, Smithy, or I'll be tempted to shoot him myself. Whoop! you did it that time, Smithy! Good boy!" and Step Hen fairly danced in his excitement.

Smithy had made good. How he did it, he never could tell; but somehow, when he just pointed his gun in a general way toward the escaping big-horn, and pulled the trigger, why, the already badly wounded animal fell over, gave a couple of last kicks, and then lay still.

But strange to say, Smithy was less given to excitement over his exploit than either of the other boys. As they all bent over the big-horn to admire his st.u.r.dy frame, and the head ornaments that distinguish him among all his kind, Smithy was seen to stroke the hairy back of the dead sheep, and clinch his teeth hard together, as though after all he felt half sorry that a sudden whim had caused him to actually take a life that nothing could restore. Evidently it would be some time before Smithy could so far overcome his former gentle traits of character to feel the hunter's fierce l.u.s.t for his quarry.

"But this ain't getting _my_ big-horn, you know," remarked Step Hen, as though the feel of those ma.s.sive curved head-pieces had thrown him into a new fever of impatience to secure his own trophies; for it would be a shame if the greenhorn of the party should be the only one to exhibit positive evidences of their having shot game.

"Come along then, and we'll soon git around to whar p'raps ye might climb down, if so be ye're keerful not to slip," and the guide once more started off.

"Oh! do we abandon my big-horn, then?" cried Smithy, as though half tempted to refuse to leave the spot on what might prove to be a wild-goose chase; to him it seemed like leaving the substance to try and catch the shadow.

"We kin come back this way, and take keer of it then," said Toby; and with this a.s.surance Smithy had to rest content.

After some further scrambling along the face of the steep slope, digging their toes into the shale that often crumbled under them, when they might risk a serious ride down the side of the mountain only for the fact that they managed to cling fast with their hands, they reached a point where it was extra rocky, and a pretty sheer descent.

"Down thar your sheep lies," the guide said, pointing as he spoke.

Step Hen immediately laid his gun aside, and crawling to the edge he looked over.

"I don't see hide or hair of it, though, Toby?" he complained.

"No more you kin," returned the other, with decision marked in both voice and manner; "but all the same it's down thar, not more'n a hundred feet at most. I got my bearin's fine. Look off yonder, and yell see whar we lay when ye did the shootin' at the big horns."