us panorama of encircling peaks.

At last Na-mon-gin prepared to leave. He indicated that we were to
go below and that Tom's hunter was to drive the sheep toward us.
When we reached the river, the Mongol placed Tom behind a rock at
the mouth of the amphitheater. He took me halfway up the slope, and
we settled ourselves behind two bowlders.

I was breathing hard from the strenuous climb, and the old fellow
waited until I was ready to shoot; then he gave a signal, and Tom's
hunter appeared at the very summit of the rocky amphitheater.
Instantly the sheep were on the move, running directly toward us.
They seemed to be as large as elephants, for never before had I been
as close to a living _argali_. Just as the animals mounted the crest
of a rocky ledge, not more than fifty yards away, Na-mon-gin
whistled sharply, and the sheep stopped as though turned to stone.

"Now," he whispered, "shoot." As I brought my rifle to the level it
banged in the air. I had been showing the hunters how to use the
delicate set-trigger, and had carelessly left it on. The sheep
instantly dashed away, but there was only one avenue of escape, and
that was down hill past me. My second shot broke the hind leg of the
big ram; the third struck him in the abdomen, low down, and he
staggered, but kept on. The sheep had reached the bottom of the
valley before my fourth bullet broke his neck.

Tom opened fire when the other ram and the ewe appeared at the mouth
of the amphitheater, but his rear sight had been loosened in the
climb down the cliff, and his shots went wild. It was hard luck, for
I was very anxious to have him kill an _argali_.

The abdomen shot would have finished the big ram eventually, and I
might have killed the other before it crossed the creek; but
experience has taught me that it is best to take no chances with a
wounded animal in rough country such as this. I have lost too many
specimens by being loath to finish them off when they were badly
hit.

[Illustration: Where the Bighorn Sheep Are Found]

[Illustration: A Mongolian Roebuck]

My ram was a beauty. His horns were almost equal to those of the
record head which Harry had killed on the first day, but one of them
was marred by a broken tip. The old warrior must have weathered
nearly a score of winters and have had many battles. But his new
coat was thick and fine--the most beautiful of any we had seen. As
he lay in the bottom of the valley I was impressed again by the
enor