They crept cautiously forward, taking advantage of every bit of cover they could find. They were above timber line now, and only a few scattered bits of brush or big rocks afforded them the hiding places they desired.
It was after they had been crouching behind a big rock for some minutes that Mountain Jim, who had just peered over the top, brought them to their feet with a whisper that electrified them.
“They’re coming,” he said, in a voice that was tense with a hunter’s excitement, “don’t move or make a sound, and they’ll come right on top of us.”
The wind was blowing from the goats toward the hunters, and the magnificent animals appeared to have no idea of what lay in store for them beyond the rocks where the boys crouched. There were twenty or more of the goats, including several bucks, great snow-white creatures of regal mien with splendid horns and coats. The boys were conscious of an almost painful excitement as they waited.
Four rifles cracked and two of the goats sprang into the air and crashed down again dead.—Page [285.]
But Jim, like a good general, knew when to hold his fire. Peering through a crevice in the rocks he watched the advance of the stately creatures. They appeared in no hurry, and under the mighty snow-covered shoulder of the mountain they moved along serenely, cropping the grass and from time to time skipping about playfully.
“Now!” shouted Mountain Jim suddenly.
Like one lad the three boys leaped to their feet. Four rifles cracked and two of the goats sprang into the air and crashed down again dead. Both Harry Ware and Persimmons had missed their marks. The goats wheeled in wild confusion. They snorted and snorted and mah-h-hed in a terrified manner. With a whoop Percy Simmons dashed toward them, yelling at the top of his voice.