"Now here you come, my boy!" he called cheerily.
Frank let go his frenzied clutch, and swung into space; but willing hands quickly drew him up until he stood with his chums.
"Did I get him?" was the first question he asked, at which the stockman laughed heartily and patted him on the back.
"Spoken like a true sportsman, I declare! How about it, Reddy?" he said.
"There's his game, sir, lying just at the foot of that old slide. It was as neat a shot as I ever saw," declared the young cowboy, pointing.
"Which is the truth, old fellow!" exclaimed Jerry, seizing Frank's hand and wringing it warmly, without a touch of jealousy, even though his own laurels as the admitted best shot of the club seemed in jeopardy.
"But what a pity we can't get it! I hate to
think of killing game and leaving it for the wolves," said Frank.
"Oh, that's soon remedied. Reddy will promise to land that sheep here for you in double-quick order, eh?"
Reddy was already fastening one end of his lariat to a projecting stone that resembled a saddle-horn. This done, he tried it, to make sure that it would hold. Then he tossed the balance of the rope, loop and all, over the edge.