“But you must go down!” said the older goat. “This is no place for you kids. It is for the older goats. Keep on the rocks below.”
“I am old enough to come up here now,” said Lightfoot. “Besides, I am hungry.”
“That makes no difference!” cried Mr. Sharp-horn. “Get down, I say!”
He kept on running toward Lightfoot with lowered head. The boy-goat thought the man-goat was, perhaps, only trying to scare him, and did not turn to run. But Mr. Sharp-horn was in earnest. On and on he came, and when Lightfoot turned to run it was almost too late.
However he did turn, and he did run, for he had no idea of being butted with those long horns. Before him was the edge of the rocks, and then, when it was too late, Lightfoot saw that he had run to the wrong place on the edge. There was, here, no path down which he could scramble. The rock went straight down, and he must either stand still and be butted over the edge, or he must jump.
He gave a bleating cry and straight over the edge of the rocks he jumped.