Soon the two sheep came into view, offering a pretty quartering shot at a little under a hundred yards.  The old ram fell to my first bullet, and I allowed the smaller one to go and grow up, and I hope offer good sport to some persevering sportsman five years hence.

While Hunter climbed down and skinned out the heads I turned in pursuit of the one which I had first fired at, for we both thought he had been hit, having seen hair fly.  I soon located him in the distance, but he showed no signs of a bad wound, and as his head was small I was truly glad that my shot had only grazed him.  Both the rams which I killed carried excellent heads with unbroken points, and we were safely back in camp with the trophies shortly after two o’clock that afternoon—­an easy and a pleasant day.

The larger ram measured 13-1/4 inches around the base of the horns, and 37-7/8 inches along the outer curves.  These were the longest horns of the Ovis dalli that I killed.  The other ram measured 13 inches around the horns and 34-1/2 inches along the outer curve.

[Illustration:  MY BEST HEAD]

While we were having tea that afternoon, we chanced to look up on the hills, and there, near the crest of the ridge, was one of the small rams from the bunch we had stalked that morning.  He offered a very easy chance had I wanted his head.  It is worthy of note that these sheep seem to have no fear of the smell of blood or dead comrades, and on several occasions I have observed them near the carcass of some ram which I had shot.

The next day opened perceptibly cooler, and the angry clouds overhead told us to beware of a coming storm.  As I now had seven heads, five of which were very handsome trophies, I concluded to take Hunter’s advice and leave the high hills.

Our sheep shooting for the year was now practically over.  Had the weather been fine it would have been an ideal trip; but with the exception of the third and thirteenth of September every day passed upon the mountains was not only disagreeable, but with conditions so unfavorable that it had been almost impossible to stalk our game properly, for when I had been once wet to the skin the cold wind from the glaciers soon chilled me to such a degree that I was unable to remain quietly in one place and allow the game to get in a favorable position for a stalk.  I had been obliged to keep constantly going, and this frequently meant shooting at long range.  With the exception of the rams shot on the eleventh and thirteenth of September, I had killed nothing under three hundred yards.  Therefore much of the sport in making a careful and proper stalk had been lost.