the actions of the sheep,
for, as I raised my eyes, I saw again that enormous head and neck
appear from behind a rock a hundred yards away; just that head with
its circlet of massive horns and the neck--nothing more. Almost in a
daze I lifted my rifle, saw the little ivory bead of the front sight
center on that gray neck, and touched the trigger. A thousand echoes
crashed back upon us. There was a clatter of stones, a confused
vision of a ponderous bulk heaving up and back--and all was still.
But it was enough for me; there could be no mistake this time. The
ram was mine.

The sudden transition from utter dejection to the greatest triumph
of a sportsman's life set me wild with joy. I yelled and pounded the
old Mongol on the back until he begged for mercy; then I whirled him
about in a war dance on the summit of the ridge. I wanted to leap
down the rocks where the sheep had disappeared but the hunter held
my ann. For ten minutes we sat there waiting to make sure that the
ram would not dash away while we were out of sight in the ravine
below. But I knew in my heart that it was all unnecessary. My bullet
had gone where I wanted it to go and that was quite enough. No sheep
that ever walked could live with a Mannlicher ball squarely in its
neck.

When we finally descended, the animal lay halfway down the slope,
feebly kicking. What a huge brute he was, and what a glorious head!
I had never dreamed that an _argali_ could be so splendid. His horns
were perfect, and my hands could not meet around them at the base.

Then, of course, I wanted to know what had happened at my first
shot. The evidence was there upon his face. My bullet had gone an
inch high, struck him in the corner of the mouth, and emerged from
his right cheek. It must have been a painful wound, and I shall
never cease to wonder what strange impulse brought him back after he
had been so badly stung. The second ball had been centered in the
neck as though in the bull's-eye of a target.

The skin and head of the sheep made a pack weighing nearly one
hundred pounds, and the old Mongol groaned as he looked up at the
mountain barriers which separated us from camp. On the summit of the
first ridge we found the trail over which we had passed in the
morning. Half an hour later the hunter jerked me violently behind a
ledge of rock. "_Pan-yang_," he whispered, "there, on the mountain
side. Can't you see him?" I could not, and he tried to point to it
with my rifle. Ju