At the very moment they did so, the report of a third shot was heard, that seemed like the echo of their own double discharge, pinging through the keen rarefied air; and when the smoke had cleared off, and the reverberations of the sound had died away, rolling in fainter and fainter waves amongst the mountain hollows in the distance, three of the sheep were observed to be stretched lifeless on the plateau where they had been so recently feeding in peace, while the remainder of the flock were bounding away from peak to peak, seeking refuge in their native fortresses in the crags above.
Mr Rawlings did not notice anything unusual at first, as he had not heard the third rifle-shot; but Noah Webster and the half-breed, who were much better accustomed to woodcraft—having had their senses sharpened by dangers which seamen never have to encounter—were alive at once to the perception of something being wrong.
“Injuns, I reckon!” muttered Noah Webster under his breath, to which the half-breed growled a characteristic “Ugh,” and the two sank down closer amid the grass, dragging down Mr Rawlings with them, Noah stopping his expostulations by clapping his hand across his mouth, and looking at him warningly, while he motioned to the rest behind them to follow their example.
All huddled together in the grass and tangled brushwood, hardly breathing for fear their presence might be discovered by some possible foe, they looked out carefully, awaiting the development of the situation.
It was only a minute or two at most, but it appeared hours to one or two, especially to poor Josh, who, in his fright of being scalped by a possible Indian, would have cheerfully given up all his chances of gold in the mine and everything, to have swapped places with the envious Jasper and been safe in camp.
The listeners, however, did not have to wait so very long.
In a little while they heard the sound of twigs being broken near them, as if some one were making his way through the copse. Soon they could distinguish, in addition, the heavy tramp of footsteps—they sounded as heavy as those of elephants to them, with their ears to the ground—trampling down the thick undergrowth and rotten twigs in the thicket before them; and they could also hear a sort of muttering sound, like that caused by somebody speaking to himself in soliloquy.
The situation, if an exciting one, was not of any long duration, for while they were listening the dénouement came.
A nondescript-clad figure came out of the brushwood into the open clearing, walking towards the spot where the mountain-sheep lay stretched on the sward, which was partly covered with the snow that remained unmelted under the lee of the cliff; and a voice, without doubt appertaining to the figure, exclaimed in unmistakable English accents—
“Well, I’m hanged if I ever heard of such a thing before in my life! I know I am a tidy shot, but if I were to mention this at home they would say I was telling a confounded lie! To think of killing three of those queer creatures at one shot! By Jove, who’d believe it?”