Part 15 (1/2)

”He's right, Step Hen,” said Davy Jones, after looking to where the guide was pointing so confidently. ”I'd know that rock among a thousand. I'll never forget it, either. And yes, your sheep must be lying below us right now.”

”I think the same, fellows,” a.s.serted Smithy, who was beginning to feel that he ought to give his opinion of things after this, since he was now an actual _boni fide_ hunter, and had even secured one of the most wary of all wild animals in the whole West.

”But why don't I see it, then?” demanded Step Hen, always very stubborn, 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 me is, if I had ought to let ye try and get down thar, so's to shove the sheep 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 such stunts, besides,” he added as a clincher, ”it's _my_ big horn, you know.”

Had either of the other boys backed him up, the chances were that Toby Smathers might have refused to give his permission; for he knew that there would naturally be considerable risk involved in such an undertaking; but then both Davy and his comrade, Smithy, saw nothing so very unusual in the proceeding, the one because he was not accustomed to judging such things; and Davy on account of being such a clever gymnast himself, always doing dangerous tricks, such as hanging from a high limb of a tree by his toes, coming down the outside of a tree by using the branches as a descending ladder, and all such ”crazy antics,” 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 my own 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, I do. Here goes, then.”

He started down the face of the almost perpendicular precipice. There were plenty of places where he could get a good foothold, and secure a grip with his ready hands. The only danger seemed to be, as the guide had warned him, in having some apparently secure rock suddenly give way under his weight. He must watch out for that constantly, and never take a fresh step unless he was sure he could maintain his hold upon the last k.n.o.b of rock.

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

”Sure I will, and just you remember our signal code, Davy. I may have to use it if I get caught tight in a crack, and can't break away nohow. 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 falling stones 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 purpose to test a stepping place. Ketch a weasel asleep, before you get me to stand on a loose place, why, it's as easy as fallin' off a log, this is.”

CHAPTER XV.

A FIERCE FIGHT WITH EAGLES.

But although Step Hen spoke so flippantly, he was far from being as confident as he pretended. In fact, as he proceeded downward, he found his task getting more and more difficult.

One thing that bothered him was the getting up again. He just felt sure that he would not be able to accomplish it; but then, if it came to the worst, doubtless the balance of the descent was no harder to manage than this; and after first sending his big-horn down, he might pick his own way after it, and the others could follow as best they saw fit.

Step Hen was a self-reliant boy, at any rate; sometimes the scoutmaster feared too much so. And since he had said he was going to get that game, and was already part way down the face of the rocky wall, there was nothing to be done but keep right along, which he proceeded to do.

He could not get the slightest glimpse of his comrades. They were somewhere up above him; but just as the guide had declared, the face of the wall fell away in places, and this kept taking him further beyond their range of vision constantly.

Whenever he could do so without imperiling his support, Step Hen would crook his neck, and look downward, in the hope of seeing where the sheep lay. He could not help thinking how much easier this effort would come for him, if a kindly Nature had given him the extensive neck that Giraffe possessed.

”There it is!” he exclaimed, joyfully, as his anxious eyes fell upon an object just a short distance below, and which he knew must be the crumpled body of his big-horn. ”And I ought to get there now without breaking my neck. Wow! that was a near tumble, all right! Careful, boy, careful now! Them horns of yours ain't growed big enough to drop on, like the sheep do.”