Boy Scouts in the Rockies; Or, The Secret of the Hidden Silver Mine

by Herbert Carter

  CHAPTER XIV.

  THE SHEEP HUNTERS.

  Davy Jones had made all his arrangements. He had only to press thebutton, when the slight "click" told that his picture was anaccomplished fact, and that if the hunters did as well, the expeditionmight be set down as a glorious success.

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

  "Now!" said the guide, suddenly.

  It would seem as though he spoke aloud purposely, knowing what theeffect was apt to be. Every feeding big-horn raised its headinstantly, and for the space of several seconds stood there as thoughcarved 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 StepHen's little thirty-thirty was on the job instantly.

  One big-horn sheep fell over on the rock, and kicked several times. Itmight have fallen over the ledge only that somehow the body seemed tobecome fast in a crotch; and there it lay in a tantalizing position, foronly 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 voicethat just thrilled with wild exultation; and hardly had he said thisthan he added, in a deeply crushed tone: "Oh! wasn't that too cruel ofhim now, to just bound off on his horns like they were skies, and geton 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, someway 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 lotmore climbing for us."

  "You mean we'll just have to work around, and get up there above theplace where _my_ big-horn lies, as dead as a door nail; is that it,Toby?" questioned Step Hen, perhaps unconsciously placing greatemphasis on that pronoun; nor could he be blamed for feeling proud, ifhalf that the guide had told them concerning the difficultiesencountered 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 liketo lose that splendid fellow for anything. Just think of having thatpair of horns to put in our club room at home, Davy. I hope you got agood picture, too; because we c'n have an enlargement taken, and hangit under _my_ horns."

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

  One thing made it a little easier now; they did not have to be soparticular 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 ofit. He was forever bruising his hands, for they were not so tough inthe palms as those of the other boys, who had been accustomed to workand hard play. Besides, often he took a little slide and in thisfashion tore his trousers as well as made quite a gash in his leg. Butthe other boys rather fancied that Smithy, unable to wholly overcomehis former love for fine clothes, grieved more on account of that bigrent in his khaki trousers, than he did for the bleeding leg, thoughit must have pained him considerably.

  Still, he did not murmur; Smithy was showing much more grit thaneither of the others had ever dreamed he possessed. Like Bumpus, itonly seemed to need a fitting opportunity to come to the surface; asis 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 thingdrags that leg after him? Let me have the pleasure of knocking himover, 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 escapingbig-horn, and pulled the trigger, why, the already badly woundedanimal fell over, gave a couple of last kicks, and then lay still.

  But strange to say, Smithy was less given to excitement over hisexploit than either of the other boys. As they all bent over thebig-horn to admire his sturdy frame, and the head ornaments thatdistinguish him among all his kind, Smithy was seen to stroke thehairy back of the dead sheep, and clinch his teeth hard together, asthough after all he felt half sorry that a sudden whim had caused himto actually take a life that nothing could restore. Evidently it wouldbe some time before Smithy could so far overcome his former gentletraits of character to feel the hunter's fierce lust for his quarry.

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

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

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

  "We kin come back this way, and take keer of it then," said Toby; andwith this assurance 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, whenthey might risk a serious ride down the side of the mountain only forthe fact that they managed to cling fast with their hands, theyreached 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 helooked 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 bothvoice and manner; "but all the same it's down thar, not more'n ahundred feet at most. I got my bearin's fine. Look off yonder, andyell see whar we lay when ye did the shootin' at the big horns."

  "He's right, Step Hen," said Davy Jones, after looking to where theguide was pointing so confidently. "I'd know that rock among athousand. I'll never forget it, either. And yes, your sheep must belying below us right now."

  "I think the same, fellows," asserted Smithy, who was beginning tofeel that he ought to give his opinion of things after this, since hewas now an actual _boni fide_ hunter, and had even secured one of themost wary of all wild animals in the whole West.

  "But why don't I see it, then?" demanded Step Hen, always verystubborn, and needing to be shown.

  "Ye see," the guide explained, "the face of the mountain backs in some,in a general way. That tells the story. The only thing that bothers meis, if I had ought to let ye try and get down thar, so's to shove thesheep off, and land it at the bottom; or make the riffle myself."

  "Oh! I wouldn't think of letting you try it," declared Step Hen,quickly. "I'm young and spry, and used to climbing up cliffs and suchstunts, besides," he added as a clincher, "it's _my_ big horn, youknow."

  Had either of the other boys backed him up, the chances were that TobySmathers might have refused to give his permission; for he knew thatthere would naturally be considerable risk involved in such anundertaking; but then both Davy and his comra
de, Smithy, saw nothingso very unusual in the proceeding, the one because he was notaccustomed to judging such things; and Davy on account of being such aclever gymnast himself, always doing dangerous tricks, such as hangingfrom a high limb of a tree by his toes, coming down the outside of atree by using the branches as a descending ladder, and all such "crazyantics," as Giraffe called them.

  "Here, somebody hold my gun," said Step Hen, with an air of resolution.

  "You're going to be some keerful, I take it?" questioned the guide,dubiously.

  "Course I am; what d'ye take me for, Toby? Think I want to go to myown funeral in a hurry? Not much. Oh! I c'n be careful, all right.Don't you worry about me. And I want that big-horn worse than ever, Ido. Here goes, then."

  He started down the face of the almost perpendicular precipice. Therewere plenty of places where he could get a good foothold, and secure agrip with his ready hands. The only danger seemed to be, as the guidehad warned him, in having some apparently secure rock suddenly giveway under his weight. He must watch out for that constantly, and nevertake a fresh step unless he was sure he could maintain his hold uponthe last knob of rock.

  "Call out if we can help any, Step Hen," was what Davy said, as theysaw the last of their companion's head just about to vanish, where thefirst inward dip to the precipice occurred.

  "Sure I will, and just you remember our signal code, Davy. I may haveto use it if I get caught tight in a crack, and can't break awaynohow. Good-bye, be good to yourselves, now, and don't go to believin'that there's any chance of me losing my grip."

  Then he vanished from their sight. A dreadful clatter of fallingstones gave the two scouts still above a case of the "trembles"immediately afterwards, and Davy called at the top of his voice:

  "I say, Step Hen!"

  "All right;" welled up from somewhere below them; "did that on purposeto test a stepping place. Ketch a weasel asleep, before you get me tostand on a loose place, why, it's as easy as fallin' off a log, thisis."