“Well,” went on Hosmer, “I calc’late mebbe that’s so. ’Tain’t very handy and ’tain’t hunted much. Cause why? Cause ever’ one knows ’tain’t no use. But onless I’m mistook, allowin’ that there’s kings o’ animals, ef the king o’ all the sheep in these Rockies don’t live up on Baldy’s Bench, I miss my guess.”
“What makes you think so?” asked Frank excitedly.
“What makes me think so? Well, for one thing,” replied Hosmer, “I’ve seen him.”
“Oh,” interrupted Skinner arousing himself. “You mean Old Indian Chief? I remember now.”
“Sure, some calls him that,” answered the bear hunter. “But ef ye ever laid eyes on him he’ll always be Ol’ Baldy to ye. I reckon he’s the biggest an’ oldest Bighorn in the world. I know he’s the curiousest critter ’at ever clumb a precipice.”
“Maybe it’s Husha the Black Ram!” exclaimed Frank as he caught Phil’s arm.
“Ye must ’a’ heerd that from some Kootenai Injun,” said Hosmer at once. “That’s one o’ their pet names fur any Bighorn they can’t git.”
“Ever hear of Koos-ha-nax, the mighty Indian hunter who set out to kill the king of all the mountain sheep?” continued Frank breathlessly.