The Herald

Hunting Rocky Mountain Sheep.

[After several] days [of hunting] and taken all the game we wanted

when, one morning, I determined to

climb the mountain peaks and have a

hunt after the famous mountain sheep.

My companions liked the idea of a dash

at the "hard heads," and we all three set

out together. The sun met us as we all

toiled up the steeps, and it was scarcely

half an hour high when La Frombe,

who was in advance, halted and pointing

to a cliff half a mile distant, said, "There

they are." We looked in the direction

indicated, and saw a group of four sheep

walking along the edge of a precipice.—

They had not yet discovered us, and we

stood still until they passed out of sight

behind some projecting rocks, and then

ran as fast as we could along the moun-

tain side until we were directly under

where we had seen our game. Carefully

ascending from crag to crag, we were

not long in coming upon their fresh

tracks. Presently La Frombe pointed

to the right, and there, standing on a

rock, scarcely two hundred yards from

us were three large sheep. We each se-

lected a sheep, and at a signal from La

Frombe we fired together, and when the

smoke cleared away saw one sheep ly-

ing on the rock. I ran as fast as I could

up the rocks, and arrived in time to see

the two other big horns going round the

bluff a quarter of a mile off. La Frombe

had killed his game, but the Santee and

I had missed our mark. I, however, no-

ticed blood on the stones, and knowing

that one of the other two was wounded,

determined to follow them. Leaving La

Frombe and the Santee to skin and dress

the dead animal, I climbed from ravine

to ravine and rock to rock for nearly an

hour, and began to despair of seeing my

game again, when I unexpectedly came

up on some blood and tracks. I saw

where the sheep had lain but a few min-

utes before, and as there was some soft

snow at this point so I could follow the

tracks, I crawled carefully along. I had

begun to descend a little, with a view of

sitting among some scrubby pines near-

by, in order the better to shield myself

from observation, and just as I reached

them, I saw a stately ram walking slow-

ly along a ledge of rocks, closely follow-

ed by a small ewe. I was yet too far

away to shoot with precision, and stood

still until they turned the

rock. They were moving parallel with

me, and I now hastened to get ahead of

them, if possible. After getting one or

two falls, and nearly breaking my gun

and neck over the stones, I perceived the

sheep nearly above me, and not over two

hundred yards distant. I crawled to the

edge of the rock, and selecting an open

spot, where I knew the sheep would

pass, rested my gun. In a moment they

appeared, and when the ram came oppo-

site the end of my rifle, I fired. The old

fellow dropped, rolled over, turned upon

his horns and fell over forty feet, light-

ing on his head. He was desperately

wounded, but still able to rise. As he

steadied himself for another jump, I put

a third ball into him, and he lay down

upon the rocks. I scrambled up to him

and when he saw me he made desperate

efforts to get upon his feet. He lay upon

his side, his great red eyes rolling

fiercely. When I went near him he

bleated piteously, and struck with his

forefoot, at the same time tossing his

great horns savagely about. I tried

for some time to get hold of him, not

wishing to shoot him again as I had but

two charges left in my gun, and I had

left my ammunition-belt behind, in or-

der to climb the better. Every time I

approached he struck at me, until, final-

ly losing my patience, I pounced upon

him from behind, and seizing hold of

one of his horns, attempted to draw my

hunting-knife across his throat. Throw-

ing back his head with a strength that

surprised me, he struck me with his

horn on the knee, and almost broke my

leg. It was only after a severe struggle

that I was able to drive my knife into

his neck and finish him.

When I had killed the ram I looked

up, and there stood the doe, hardly fif-

teen yards distant. She had been looking

at the death of her mate, and now, even

as I looked at her, bounded lightly away

over the rocks. I fired a shot after her,

but it did not hit her, and I sat down

perfectly satisfied with my ram.

I was not long in signaling my compan-

ions, and presently I heard the long "tal-

la-ho!" of La Frombe, who was coming

up the steeps below me.

I had my sheep skinned and dressed

by the time they came up, and the pines

affording a favorable place, we cut off

some of the choice bits, roasted them on

the coals, and dined.

We were all three very tired, and

having had enough of sheep hunting for

one day, we rested for a couple of hours,

and then packing our meat on our backs,

began the descent. It was quite late

when we reached our camp, and as we

were weary, and bruised by many a fall

received during the day, we soon went

to bed.

*Hunting the Rocky Mountain sheep

is the only sport that approximates to

any thing like the famous chamois hunt-

ing of olden times. The flesh of these

sheep is very good, but they are exceed-

ingly difficult to kill. When pursued

by the hunter, or wounded, they will

frequently throw themselves over pre-

cipices fifty feet high, and light on their

horns, apparently without hurting

themselves in the least.

Mr. Beidon's gives in the above sketch

a perfectly natural and correct account

of a Rocky Mountain sheep hunt.

[From Beidon's: The White Chief.

published by A. H. Hubbard, 430 Chest-

nut Street, Philadelphia, Pa. and sold

only by subscription.