CHAPTER XXVIII. AFTER MOUNTAIN GOATS.

The two days following were unmarked by any special incident. Jimmie rode with the boys, becoming stronger and lighter-hearted every day. And yet they noticed a curious thing about the waif. Whenever the mysterious man was spoken of he grew somber and silent. It was as if some link existed between himself and this wanderer of the mountains. The boys put this down to the fact that possibly Jimmie felt that, like himself, this outcast of the hills was friendless and alone.

It was on the evening of the second day that they made camp beside one of those beautiful little lakes that nestle in the bosom of the mighty Rockies. Across the sheet of blue water the color of turquoise, a ridge rose steeply from the[276] very water’s edge. The pines on it were thinner than usual, and appeared singularly free from underbrush. Far above the lake the smooth ascent broke off abruptly, and there appeared to be beyond it a rocky plateau intervening between it and the farther wall of rock and snow that piled upward till it seemed to brush the sky.

While they were making camp Persimmons was gazing about and suddenly he drew Ralph’s attention to some moving objects on the snow-covered crest above the plateau. Mountain Jim was appealed to and decided that the objects were mountain goats.

“A big herd of them, too,” he declared.

“Have a look through the binoculars,” urged Ralph, borrowing the professor’s glasses which he was far too busy with his rock specimens to use. Indeed, he hailed Ralph’s excited announcement with only mild interest, being at that moment entering in his note-book a voluminous account of his discovery of some metamorphic[277] rock in a region where none was thought previously to exist.

The glasses revealed the objects as mountain goats beyond a doubt. They were big, white fellows with high, humped shoulders and delicate hind quarters and black hoofs and horns. They looked not unlike miniature bisons, although of course the resemblance was only superficial.

While they still gazed at the moving objects on the snow-capped ridge, Mountain Jim suddenly uttered a sharp exclamation.

“Look close now,” said he, “for you’ll see something worth looking at in a minute or two, or I miss my guess.”

The goats were at the summit of what appeared to be an absolutely precipitous rock wall. From where they watched it did not appear that a fly could have found foothold on its surface. The goats had paused. Ralph drew in a deep breath.

“Gracious! I do believe they are going to try to get down it,” he exclaimed.

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“And that ain’t all,” declared Mountain Jim. “They’re going to succeed, too. Watch ’em.”

The leader of the goats gave a leap that must have been fully twenty feet to a ridge which was hardly perceptible even through the glasses. He stood poised there for a second and then made a breath-catching plunge off into space. The place on the ledge that he had just vacated was immediately occupied by one of his followers, while he himself found footing on nothing, so far as the boys could see. It was a thrilling performance to watch the goats as they made their way down that rock-face to the feeding grounds. Sometimes the leader would take a leap that would make the performance of a flying squirrel seem tame by comparison. And his followers, among them some ewes, were by no means behind him in feats of agility.

“I’ve seen ’em come down a gully that looked like a chimney with one side out,” said Mountain Jim as he watched. “Old hunters say that when[279] they miss their footing they save their heads from being caved in by landing on their horns, but I don’t take any stock in that.”

“Don’t they ever miss their footing?” cried Ralph wonderingly.

“Well, I’ve traveled aroun’ these parts fer a good many years,” replied Jim judicially, “and I ain’t never found hair nor hide of a carcass killed that way, and no more I reckon did anybody else.”

Jim went on to describe to the boys how wise and cunning the mountain goats are, gifted with an intelligence far beyond that possessed by most wild creatures. He also related to them an anecdote concerning an ewe whom he had seen defend her kid from the attack of an eagle. The eagle had swooped down on the kid and knocked it head over heels. It was about to fix its talons into the fleecy coat and fly off to its eerie with the little creature, when the old mother became aware of what was going on. Like a thunderbolt[280] she charged down on the eagle, which tried in vain to get away. But its own greediness proved its undoing, for its talons were tangled in the young goat’s coat and it could not rise, and the mother speedily tramped and butted it to death. While she was doing this some old rams looked on as if it were no concern of theirs. They seemed to know that the mother was quite able to fight her own battles.

“Think there’s any chance of our getting a shot at them?” asked young Ware, vibrant with excitement.

“Don’t see why not,” responded Mountain Jim. “It’s not a hard climb up there, and I reckon they’ll stay there till to-morrow anyhow, as there’s pasturage and grass on the plateau and they’re working down to it.”

The professor demurred at first at allowing the boys to go hunting the goats, but after Jim had promised to bring them back safe and sound he gave his consent. Early the next day, therefore,[281] the party set out, leaving only Jimmie and the professor in camp. Jimmie had by this time become quite a valuable assistant to the scientist, and the quiet occupation of collecting specimens appeared to suit him far better than the more strenuous sports the rugged boys enjoyed.

For a couple of hours, after skirting the little lake, they climbed steadily. Up they went among, apparently, endless banks of climbing pines, and traversed strips of loose gravel here and there that sent clattering pebbles down the slope under their feet.

Then they left the last of the dwindling pine belt behind them and pushed along on a slope strewn with broken rock and debris that made walking arduous.

“Great sport this, hunting mountain goats, ain’t it, boys?” said Jim with a grin as the boys begged him to rest a while, for Jim appeared to be made of chilled steel and gristle when it came to climbing.

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“I’m all right,” declared Harry Ware stoutly, although his panting sides and streaming face belied his words, “but how about lunch?”

“Yes, cantering crackers! I’m hungry as one of those lions that tried to gobble up Ralph,” declared Persimmons, who always had, as may have been noticed, an excellent appetite.

“Don’t be thinking of lunch yet,” admonished Jim. “You’re a fine bunch of hunters. The first thing we want to do is to get a crack at those goats, ain’t it? If we don’t keep on, they will.”

That settled the question of lunch, and after a brief rest they kept pushing on up the mountain side. A chill wind was now blowing from the vast snowfields, and the cool of it fanned their flushed cheeks refreshingly.

They reached a stretch of rocky ground made smooth and slippery by melting snow from the ridges above. The scrap broke off on the verge of an almost precipitous rift, in the depths of which a torrent roared. They stopped for a[283] minute upon the dizzy ledge of rock and gazed down above battalions of somber trees upon the lake below. They could see the camp and the ponies, dwarfed to specks, moving about far beneath. Harry Ware and Percy Simmons shouted and waved their hats, but Jim instantly checked this.

“Are you hunting goats or out on a picnic,” he admonished the abashed boys.

“Huh! Not much of a picnic about this,” grunted Hardware in an audible aside.

“Cheer up, it will get worse before it gets better,” said Ralph with a laugh.

A short distance further on they came upon some green grass growing in a marshy spot, kept damp by the constant running of silvery threads of melted snow.

“Now look to your rifles,” warned Jim. “We’ll be using the shooting irons before long, or I miss my guess.”

They crept cautiously forward, taking advantage[284] of every bit of cover they could find. They were above timber line now, and only a few scattered bits of brush or big rocks afforded them the hiding places they desired.

It was after they had been crouching behind a big rock for some minutes that Mountain Jim, who had just peered over the top, brought them to their feet with a whisper that electrified them.

“They’re coming,” he said, in a voice that was tense with a hunter’s excitement, “don’t move or make a sound, and they’ll come right on top of us.”

The wind was blowing from the goats toward the hunters, and the magnificent animals appeared to have no idea of what lay in store for them beyond the rocks where the boys crouched. There were twenty or more of the goats, including several bucks, great snow-white creatures of regal mien with splendid horns and coats. The boys were conscious of an almost painful excitement as they waited.

Four rifles cracked and two of the goats sprang into the air and crashed down again dead.—Page 285.

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But Jim, like a good general, knew when to hold his fire. Peering through a crevice in the rocks he watched the advance of the stately creatures. They appeared in no hurry, and under the mighty snow-covered shoulder of the mountain they moved along serenely, cropping the grass and from time to time skipping about playfully.

“Now!” shouted Mountain Jim suddenly.

Like one lad the three boys leaped to their feet. Four rifles cracked and two of the goats sprang into the air and crashed down again dead. Both Harry Ware and Persimmons had missed their marks. The goats wheeled in wild confusion. They snorted and snorted and mah-h-hed in a terrified manner. With a whoop Percy Simmons dashed toward them, yelling at the top of his voice.

“Come back!” roared Jim frantically, but the boy was far too excited to heed him. He rushed[286] after the fleeing goats at top speed, shouting like an Indian.

Suddenly one of the old bucks wheeled. The creature was as big as a small calf, and almost as powerful as an ox. It saw Percy and lowered its head.

“Gibbering gondolas! He’s coming for me!” exclaimed the boy, and so indeed the infuriated old buck was.

“Fire at him!” roared the others, seeing the boy’s predicament, but Persimmons could only stare stupidly at the great buck, as with lowered horns, it dashed toward him.

“Run! Shoot! Do something!” came from Jim in a volley of shouts.

“Look out!” roared Hardware, as if such a warning was necessary at all.

“Get out of his way!” cried Ralph.