Then, indeed, Gale feasted his eyes with a spectacle for a hunter.
It came to him suddenly that there had been something he expected
to see in this Rocky Mountain bighorn, and it was lacking. They
were beautiful, as wonderful as even Ladd's encomiums had led him
to suppose. He thought perhaps it was the contrast these soft,
sleek, short-furred, graceful animals afforded to what he imagined
the barren, terrible lava mountains might develop.
The splendid leader stepped closer, his round, protruding amber
eyes, which Gale could now plainly see, intent upon that fatal
red flag. Like automatons the other four crowded into his tracks.
A few little slow steps, then the leader halted.
At this instant Gale's absorbed attention was directed by Yaqui
to the rifle, and so to the purpose of the climb. A little cold
shock affronted Gale's vivid pleasure. With it dawned a realization
of what he had imagined was lacking in these animals. They did not
look wild! The so-called wildest of wild creatures appeared tamer
than sheep he had followed on a farm. It would be little less than
murder to kill them. Gale regretted the need of slaughter.
Nevertheless, he could not resist the desire to show himself and
see how tame they really were.
He reached for the .405, and as he threw a shell into the chamber
the slight metallic click made the sheep jump. Then Gale rose
quickly to his feet.
The noble ram and his band simply stared at Gale.
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