CHAPTER XI
We made our start at daylight, loaded with all the necessities for aclimb over the mountains. The rest of our supplies and equipment wecached, and Big Pete turned our horses loose assuring me that in thespring he would come back and rope them.
The lower trail of the pass was quite well defined and we made famousprogress, but the higher we climbed the more difficult the going becameand more than once we were forced to pause on a ledge to rest and regainour breath.
On one ledge I got my first really close view of a bighorn sheep, and Ibecame so excited that nothing would do but I must stalk him, despiteBig Pete's assurance that the wily old ram would not let me get withingun shot of him in such an exposed area.
I crawled, and wriggled, and twisted over rock and boulders for what tome seemed miles, but always the sheep kept just out of accurate shootingdistance ahead of me. It was an exasperating chase, but one cannot livein the mountains for any length of time without paying more or lessattention to geology; the mountaineer soon learns that stratified rock,that is rock arranged like layer cake, resting in a horizontal positionon its natural bed, makes travel over its top comparatively easy, butwhen by the subsidence or upheaval of the earth's crust huge masses ofstone have been tilted up edgewise, it is an entirely differentproposition.
In this latter case the erosion, or the wearing away, caused bytrickling water, frost and snow, sharpens the edge of the rock, as agrindstone does the edge of an ax, and traveling along one of theseridges presents almost the same difficulties that travel along the edgeof an upturned ax would do to a microscopic man.
But when a sportsman, for the first time in his life, has succeeded increeping within range of a grand bighorn ram, and his bullet, speedingtrue, has badly wounded the game, hardships are forgotten, and if, onaccount of the miraculous vitality of the mountain sheep, there isdanger of losing the quarry, all the inborn instinct of the predaceousbeast in man's nature is aroused, and danger is a consideration not tobe taken in account.
A hawk in pursuit of a barnyard fowl will follow it into the open doorof the farmhouse; the hound in pursuit of the fox cares not for theapproaching locomotive--being possessed by the instinct to kill--nothingis of importance to them but the capture of the game in sight. A manfollowing a buck is governed by a like singleness of purpose.
For this reason I was scrambling along the knife-like edge of the ridge,with death in the steep treacherous slide rock on one side, death in thesteep green glacier ice on the other side, and torture and wounds undermy feet.
But the fever of the chase had possession of me. I had tasted blood andfelt the fierce joy of the puma and the wild intoxication of a huntingwolf!
The cruel wounds inflicted by the sharp stones under my feet wereunnoticed. Away ahead of me was a moving object; it could use but threelegs, but that was one leg more than I had, and the ram had distancedme. After an age of time I reached the rugged, broader footing of themountain side, and creeping up behind some sheltering rocks again firedat the fleeing ram. With the impact of the bullet the sheep fellheadlong down a cliff to a projecting rock thirty feet below, where itlay apparently dead. A moment later it again arose, seemingly as able asever, and ran along the face of the beetling rock where my eyes, aidedby powerful field glasses, could perceive no foothold; then it gave amagnificent leap to a ledge on the opposite side of the narrow canyonand fell dead, out of my reach.
Spent with my long, rough run, I naturally selected the mostcomfortable seat in which to rest; this chanced to be a cushion ofheather-like plants along the side of a fragment of rock whicheffectually concealed my body from view from the other side of thechasm. Here, on the verge of that impassable canyon, I sat panting andlooking at the poor dead creature upon the opposite side; its rightfront leg was shattered at the shoulder, a bullet had pierced its lungs.Yet, with two fatal wounds and a useless leg, the plucky creature hadscaled the face of a cliff which one would think a squirrel would findimpossible to traverse and made leaps which might well be consideredimprobable for a perfectly sound animal. The ram was dead and food forthe ravens, and a reaction had taken place in my mind; I felt like abloody murderer, and hung my head with a sense of guilt.
Presently, becoming conscious of that peculiar guttural noise, used byBig Pete when desiring caution, and looking up I was amazed to see asplendid Indian youth climb down the face of the opposite cliff, throwhis arms around the dead ram's neck and burst into deep but subduedlamentation. For the first time I now saw that what I had mistaken for ablood stain on the bighorn's neck was a red collar.
Cautiously producing my field glasses I examined the collar anddiscovered it to be made of stained porcupine quills cleverly worked ona buckskin band. The field glasses also told me that the boy's shirt wastrimmed with the same material, while a duplicate of the sheep's collarformed a band which encircled his head, confining the long black hairand preventing it from falling over his face, but leaving it free tohang down his back to a point below the waist line.
So absorbed was I in this unique spectacle that I carelessly allowed myelbow to dislodge a loose fragment of stone which went clattering downthe face of the precipice. This proved to be almost fatal carelessness,for, with a movement as quick as the stroke of a rattlesnake, the ladplaced an arrow to the string of a bow and sent the barbed shaft withsuch force, promptitude and precision that it went through my fur cap,the arrow entangling a bunch of my hair, taking it along with it.
"Squat lower, Le-loo; arrows has been the death of many a man aforeyou," whispered Big Pete in my ear, but even as he spoke another arrowsang over our crouching bodies, shaving the protecting rock so closelythat their plumed tips brushed the dust on our backs.
"Waugh! Good shootin', by gum! I never seed it beat; if he onct sotsthem black eyes on our hulking carcasses he'll get us yit," muttered myguide, enthusiastically. "He's mighty slender, quick and purty--but soalso be a rattlesnake!" he exclaimed, as another arrow slit the sleeveof his wamus as cleanly as if it were cut with a knife.
"For God's sake, stop!" I shouted, in real alarm. The boy paused, butwith an arrow still drawn to its head. His eyes flashing, head erect,one moccasined foot on the ram's body, the other braced against thecliff; his short fawn-colored skin shirt clung to his lithe body, andthe fringed edges hung over the dreadful black chasm in front of him. Itwas a picture to take away one's breath. "Put down your weapon, and wewill stand with our hands up," I cried. Slowly the bow was lowered andas slowly Big Pete and I arose, holding our empty hands aloft. "Now,young fellow, tell us your pleasure."
There are a few gray hairs showing at my temples which first made theirappearance while I was crouching behind that stone on the edge of thechasm.
To my polite inquiry asking his pleasure, the wild boy made no reply butglanced at us with the utmost contempt when Big Pete went through somegestures in Indian sign language. The lad mutely pointed to the deadsheep, the sight of which seemed to enrage him again, for insensibly hisfingers tightened on the bow and the wood began to curve after a mannerwhich sent me ducking behind the sheltering stone again; but Big Peteonly folded his arms across his broad chest and looked the boy straightin the eyes.
Never will I forget that picture, the cold, bleak, snow-coveredmountains towering above them, the black abyss of Sheol between them;neither would hesitate to take life, neither possessed a fear of death;but with every muscle alert and every nerve alive these two wild thingsstood facing each other, mutually observing a truce because of--what?Because, in spite of the fighting instinct or, maybe, because of it theyboth secretly admired each other.