"Big horns—mountain sheep—good eating, too," said Havens, laconically.
Bob Somers brought out his field-glass. "By Jove, isn't it wonderful how they keep their footing?" he cried. "Look, Dave!"
The powerful glass brought the animals close into view, and the "poet" gazed long and earnestly. He could see them bunch their four feet together, poise for an instant, then leap gracefully and land on the steepest rocks.
"That's a great sight, Bob," he said, at length.
"Big horns generally keep above the timber line," explained Havens. "They go in bands of about fifty. Some of the old stagers are whoppers."
"Wish I could get a snap-shot of 'em," sighed Dick.
They watched the wild sheep for some time, then retraced their steps and before long were again on their way down the mountain slopes. They found the descent both difficult and dangerous. Gullies and precipices were encountered, and a misstep might have resulted disastrously.
It was about noon when they finally scrambled over a ledge of rocks and reached a clear, swift-flowing stream.
"Oh, ho, how glad I am to get down with arms and legs safe and sound," sighed Dave.
"This stream leads to the lake where Hank Merwin has his cabin," announced Jim Havens.