A day or so later, however, when Jack and Sam were out together, Jack got the very chance he wanted. They were walking along a rocky ridge, and, coming to the edge of a deep ravine, were debating whether to cross it or travel back, as they had seen no signs of game, and it looked as if a storm was brewing.
“I guess we’ll go back,” Sam remarked. “There doesn’t seem to be any——”
He looked around to see what Jack was doing, and beheld his chum down on one knee, aiming at something on a distant rock. Sam looked and saw, outlined in the clear light, a big ram. He did not speak, fearing to disconcert Jack’s aim, and the next instant the rifle of his chum cracked.
The ram gave a convulsive leap into the air, turned partly around, and then plunged over the rock, and went rolling down the steep side of the mountain.
“You got him, Jack! You got him!” cried Sam.
“It looks so,” admitted Jack with a smile of triumph.
“And he’s a beaut!” went on Sam. “But how will we get him?”
“Oh, he’s just where we want him,” said Jack. “Come on down.”
It was no easy task scrambling down the slope, at the bottom of which they had left their horses, but they managed it, and then rode to the spot where the ram had fallen. They found the body in the bushes, and Sam saw that he had not misstated it when he called it a “beaut.” The ram’s head was graced with a fine pair of horns, which Jack at once announced he would take back East as a trophy.
“Put ’em in your room at Washington Hall,” suggested Sam.