They had never
seen a man. They showed not the slightest indication of instinctive
fear. Curiosity, surprise, even friendliness, seemed to mark
their attitude of attention. Gale imagined that they were going
to step still closer. He did not choose to wait to see if this
were true. Certainly it already took a grim resolution to raise
the heavy .405.
His shot killed the big leader. The others bounded away with
remarkable nimbleness. Gale used up the remaining four shells
to drop the second ram, and by the time he had reloaded the others
were out of range.
The Yaqui's method of hunting was sure and deadly and saving of
energy, but Gale never would try it again. He chose to stalk the
game. This entailed a great expenditure of strength, the eyes
and lungs of a mountaineer, and, as Gale put it to Ladd, the need
of seven-league boots. After being hunted a few times and shot
at, the sheep became exceedingly difficult to approach. Gale
learned to know that their fame as the keenest-eyed of all animals
was well founded. If he worked directly toward a flock, crawling
over the sharp lava, always a sentinel ram espied him before he
got within range. The only method of attack that he found successful
was to locate sheep with his glass, work round to windward of
them, and then, getting behind a ridge or buttress, crawl like a
lizard to a vantage point. He failed often. The stalk called
forth all that was in him of endurance, cunning, speed.
Pages:
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345