“Shooting tigers from the back of an elephant, with a hundred natives to beat the bush and drive the panic-stricken beast within range of a half dozen express rifles is not my idea of the best sport.”
The two boys, somewhat surprised, listened intently.
“What makes the Bighorn sheep such fine sport?” asked Frank suddenly. “I suppose it’s because they are rare and hard to get.”
Captain Ludington was looking silently across the sloping yard into the deep blue of the gathering evening, as if thinking.
“Are they very much different from common sheep an’ goats?” added Phil, innocently.
The Englishman roused himself and laughed.
“It isn’t because they are so rare or so hard to kill,” he exclaimed in answer. “And they are not at all like common sheep and goats. The latter answers you partly. As for the rest, who can explain the charm of the chase? In this case we must allow for the fascination of the surroundings; the snow-tipped mountain peaks; the solitude of the rugged mountain slopes; the baffling gorges that turn the hunters back; the bottomless chasms, wherein the green glacier waters leap and roar beyond the sound of human ear—”
“You must o’ been there, then?” ventured Frank, carried away by Captain Ludington’s eloquence.
“Near enough to know what it means,” went on the speaker. “I’m afraid you youngsters don’t know all about your own country.”