As the little squadron of canoes drew near to the easterly end of the Island the girls were suddenly excited by a great disturbance in the bushes on the hill above them. This end of the island was exceedingly steep and rocky.
“Oh, what’s that?” cried Mina, as some object flashed into view for a moment and then disappeared.
“It’s one of the goats,” squealed Frankie.
Gannet Island was grazed by a good-sized herd of goats, but they remained mostly at this end and kept away from the boys’ camp at the other. The girls had seldom seen any of the herd, although they had heard the kids bleating now and then, and the boys had described the old rams and how ugly they were.
Here, right above them, was going on a striking domestic wrangle, for in a moment they saw that two of the rams were having a set-to among the bushes on the side-hill, while several mild-eyed Nannies and their progeny looked on.
The rams would back away a little in the brush and then charge each other. When their hard horns collided, they rang like steel, and several times the antagonists were both overborne by the shock and rolled upon the ground.
“What a place for a fight!” exclaimed Frank. “What do you know about that, girls?”
“It’s a shame,” quavered Mina. “Somebody ought to separate them.”
“Sure! I vote that you go right up and do so, Miss Everett,” said Grace, briskly.
However, Frank’s criticism of the judgment of the combating goats was correct. It was no place for a fair fight. One of the animals happened to get “up hill” and at the next charge the lower goat was lifted completely off its feet and came tumbling down the steep descent with the speed of an avalanche.