The sun had already hidden itself behind the western mountains when the two tired boys reached camp. Jack, who had the ram's head on his shoulders, dropped it to the ground with a groan of relief, and said, "Well, Henry, I don't know who else I would have done this for."
The story of their success was soon told, and Mr. Clifford was delighted with the trophy, while Hugh praised Henry's shot and prophesied that he would become a good hunter. Henry told the story of his shot, of the hopes and fears connected with it, and of his final despair as the ram rushed off, and then of the rebound of his spirits at Jack's declaration that he believed the ram had been hit. Altogether it was a very pleasant evening.
After the talk had a little quieted down, and supper was being cooked for the boys, Jack asked Hugh, "Where does this meat come from, Hugh?"
"Why," said Hugh, "Mr. Clifford and I went out and took a little walk, and he killed a good fat bull elk. We're going out to get the meat in the morning."
"Well," said Jack, "this seems to be a great day for the Clifford family," a remark which both Mr. Clifford and his son seemed to find very amusing, for they shouted with laughter at it.
The next morning Hugh and Mr. Clifford, with one of the pack horses, went off to bring in the bull, while Jack, Henry, and Jones, with another animal, climbed the ridge to get the ram.
On their way back the two boys were fortunate enough to come upon a little brood of ptarmigan, the young now almost full grown and the mother beginning to be touched with white on various parts of her body. The little birds were quite tame, and permitted a near approach, but at length one after another they flew away, pitching down the mountainside with the high-pitched cackle that this bird always utters.
That afternoon the boys were too tired to go out and hunt, and Mr. Clifford seemed satisfied with his success of the day before. The next day, however, Jack and Henry climbed the mountains on the other side of the pass. They soon found themselves among peaks much higher and more rugged and difficult than they had yet seen. They found some sheep and were endeavoring to stalk them when, without any warning, a blanket of white fog settled down over the mountain top, hiding the sheep and everything else, except things very close at hand. They tried to get a little closer to the sheep, but the fog was so dense and so confusing that Jack put a veto on their moving, and they sat there waiting for the fog to lift. Curious sounds were constantly coming to them from the mountainside. Rattling of rocks, calls of birds and of small mammals, and other sounds which they could not recognize. Once the fog lifted for a little, and Jack thought he saw standing at a distance three rams. He stared to see whether they actually were rams or only small rifts in the fog, and then before he could determine, the mist shut down again and blotted them out. As the boys sat there, there was a whirl of wings in the air, and presently all about them alighted curious little birds with gray crowns, brown bodies, and rosy breasts, active, noisy, and constantly searching for food among the rocks, while they constantly uttered a shrill, musical whistle.
After a while Henry seemed to tire of this inaction, and said to Jack, "What are we going to do, Jack? Can't we go on?"