“There ain’t no such animal!” Lucy laughed.
“I wish we could see one, alive,” said Bob.
“I’m going to hunt one later with a camera—me and Spider—he’s my chum up at Many Glacier.”
At the other end of the dance hall was a mounted sheep—a big old ram, almost six inches taller than the goat, with a magnificent pair of horns which curved up, back, and around till the points touched the base, making a complete circle. Even stuffed and mounted, he was a magnificent creature, proud and alert.
“Oh, I think it’s a crime to kill such beautiful animals!” Lucy exclaimed.
“Me, too,” said Joe. “I’d rather hunt ’em with a camera, get a picture, and leave the animal alive for somebody else to see.”
“Well, I’d like to have a head for my den,” said Bob. “Wish they let you hunt in the Park.”
Joe and Bob were both so sleepy that they soon left “the big struggle,” and started back for the camp. It was almost pitch black now in the cedars, and after they had walked up the trail as far as they thought was right, they had to hunt some minutes before they found the handkerchief. Turning off from the path, they stumbled through the woods till they caught the glimmer of red coals from their fire, threw on some fresh wood to get light, and prepared for bed. Rolled up tight in their blankets, they were soon fast asleep.
It was still pitch dark, and it seemed as if he’d just gone to sleep, when Joe was awakened by a noise close by. He felt as much as heard the presence of somebody or something. The fire had again died down to a heap of coals, and only a faint red glow dimly lit the base of the great, ghostly tree trunks close around. Joe sat up, straining every nerve of eye and ear. Suddenly a dead stick broke with a loud snap not far away, on the side toward the provisions, which had been placed in the fork of a half fallen tree trunk. Bob woke up at this, with a jump that brought him, too, into a sitting posture.
“Wha’s ’at?” he exclaimed, in the startled voice of one half awake.