And on his part Felix must keep a bead on that big buck.
Perhaps the leader of the flock had some reason to feel suspicious. He had ceased browsing on the grass that grew in the little plateau sheltered thus far from the cold, and getting all the warmth of the sunshine; they could see him standing there as though he might be cut out of solid rock, apparently sniffing the air as if in some incredible manner he had caught a whiff of danger, even though the wind blew almost directly from him toward the spot where the boys lay.
Tom kicked the ankle of his chum twice. That meant he was ready to give the word to fire and Felix must be ready to press the trigger of his Marlin when he heard the one word that was to be whispered, so the Eastern boy nudged an answer with his elbow.
"Now!"
There was a double discharge, Tom firing just after his companion; for in his generosity he did not want to precede him, even by the fraction of a second, lest this serve to make the patriarch of the flock move, and disturb Felix in aiming.
The big buck with the wonderful horns made a leap into the air, and then rolled down the slope, falling from the end of the shelf. They could see his desperate efforts to cling to the rock at the brink with his forefeet; but powerful as he may have been, that deadly ball had sapped his strength with its shock; and ten seconds later he vanished from the sight of the hunters.
Of course the balance of the flock had bounded off in wild alarm, not waiting to see what the fate of their leader might be; all but one, which lay there on the green spot, perfectly still. Tom evidently had not suffered in his aim because of allowing his chum the first chance to pull trigger. As usual he had made a centre shot; and if only they could find a way to get across to where the young bighorn lay, there was a prospect of some pretty fine eating ahead.
"I got him, didn't I, Tom?" cried Felix, greatly pleased over the result of his shot.
"But where d'ye suppose the beggar dropped to, and will we ever be able to get to him? I'd just hate awfully to lose those horns, now that I've knocked him galley-west. What had we better do, Tom?"
"I'll tell you," replied the other, calmly; for it took considerable to excite Tom—an angry bear climbing up a tree after him had been known to do the trick all right, though. "First of all, before we try and go down after those horns you want, let's see if we can get over to where the sheep were grazing. For my part, I've got my mouth set for some mutton, when we get home again; and I'd hate to lose what I've shot. It would be a wicked waste, that's what."