For several moments none of the astounded hunters spoke. Frank was trembling with excitement. Phil seemed to have lost his reason. The latter boy turned as if to walk away. Lord Pelton was the first to recover his senses.

“It’s the old ram,” he muttered.

“Yes, yes, the old ram,” repeated Phil in a dazed way.

Frank laughed hysterically.

“What’s the matter?” continued the Englishman. “Aren’t you goin’ to bag him?”

“Yes,” mumbled Phil, “ain’t we goin’ to bag him?”

Then, to the surprise of his companions, Phil dropped down on a rock and buried his face in his hands. That broke Frank’s spell.

“What’s the matter here? Wake up!” he cried grasping Phil by the shoulder. “It’s ‘Old Baldy’ alive. Maybe not kickin’, but alive.”

[264]

“‘Old Baldy!’” shouted Phil springing to his feet. “What was I doin’?”

“You were having the rattles,” laughed Frank nervously. “And so was I. I certainly never expected to really see him.”

So far as could be seen not an animal had moved. The flock, as if panic-stricken, stood huddled at the bottom of the big ram’s shelf. The strangely marked leader still lay with his head erect and alert. Phil, not yet wholly himself, drew a long breath.

“He’s alive, I reckon, but he looks like a ghost,” said Phil. “And by cracky, he is a ghost to me.”

“He ain’t a ghost,” exclaimed Frank, moistening his lips, “and I wouldn’t make him one for all the ram’s horns in the Rockies.”

“That would be potting, I fancy,” commented Lord Pelton. “I rather believe your ‘Old Baldy’ is on his last legs.”

“It’s just like a king’s throne,” suggested Phil, “that cave o’ his with the flock crowdin’ round about it.”

“I couldn’t shoot him,” exclaimed Frank. “I’d feel like an assassin.”

[265]

“Old Baldy”

[266-
267]

“Do you happen to notice,” broke in the Englishman, “that all the sheep are ewes and lambs?”

“That settles it,” exclaimed Frank. “I vote to spare the ‘Monarch of the Mountains.’ ‘Old Baldy’ must be Husha the Black Ram. And to me, he’s kind o’ like a religion.”

“He’s a part of history at least,” added Lord Pelton.

“It seems tough to lose him,” said Phil, “but I think you’re both right. Let’s take a snap shot of him and call it off.”

This suggestion meeting approval, Phil got the camera. He made a picture of the enclosure and its contents which, when printed in a prominent sporting magazine, created a sensation. It was then decided to get a picture of “Old Baldy,” or “Husha.”

“Let ’em go,” exclaimed Frank when the ewes and kids suddenly fled to the left around the shelf as the picture makers advanced on the right side. “We don’t want ’em.”

As panic seized the flock and it retreated, the big ram on the shelf drew himself on his haunches.

[268]

“Why don’t he follow them?” asked Lord Pelton.

“He can’t,” answered Frank. “He’s too old.”

But, as Phil trained his camera on the quarter century chief of the sheep, “Old Baldy” faced the intruders with lowered head and eyes that shot forth the fire of youth and rage. Twice he struggled to get on his feet and each time he failed.

“You’re right,” said the Englishman, “it’s the old ram’s last stand. But don’t get too close; he may have one more charge in him.”

Phil was too absorbed to give heed to this advice. A snap shot of such a beast would be an achievement indeed. Therefore, he crept closer to the shelf and the unmoving ram. Frank and Lord Pelton saw the fire in “Old Baldy’s” eyes; then at last they saw him with a supreme effort gather his legs beneath him.

“Look out!” shouted Frank.

“He’s coming,” cried the Englishman.

Before Phil, his eyes on the camera “finder,” could retreat there was a snort and the ram[269] threw himself from the shelf. He fell short on his charge but, with another cry, sprang to his feet again. This time “Old Baldy” expanded himself once more into the majestic creature he had once been and again charged the boy. But once more he fell short, as Phil sprang backwards.

Balked of his prey the ram fell on his knees and then on his belly. His head was yet erect; on each side of the cross marking his face his big dull eyes glared wickedly. Then the flash in them suddenly faded to a dull gray like his thin, straggly coat, and the defiant head sank slowly down.

“It’s his last fight,” exclaimed Frank.

Once more Phil advanced and “snapped” the prostrate “monarch of the mountains.” Then the three approached to within a few feet of the feeble animal. The old leader of the mountain sheep suddenly threw his head up; the gray of his eyes turned to fire and, quivering in every muscle, he rose in the air like a ball. In the same motion the ram threw himself forward again, but the effort was his last. Half-way in the spring the beast dropped to[270] the rocks in collapse and, his eyes closed, sank again and rolled on his side.

“Pelton,” said Frank, omitting in his excitement the young Englishman’s title, “we’ve always planned, if we found ‘Old Baldy’ alive, that he was to be yours. His day is over. End his suffering.”

“I don’t like to do it,” said Lord Pelton. “It don’t seem sportsmanlike.”

“You can see he’s dying,” argued Phil. “Isn’t it better that his head and horns be carried away as a trophy than that the old sheep be left here to be torn to pieces by eagles?”

Slowly Lord Pelton raised his rifle and, with a bullet in the center of “Old Baldy’s” cross, Husha the Black Earn gave one convulsion and the king was dead.

Before taking time to measure the dead ram, Frank and Phil hurriedly turned for a further examination of old Husha’s home, for such apparently the natural rock refuge had been for years. The shelf around the pool was worn smooth by the bodies of its inhabitants. Rock edges were covered with sheep hair and the scattered bones strewn about indicated that[271] many animals had died in the enclosure. More especially interested in the old leader’s throne-like shelf the three hunters hurried in that direction.

“Another skeleton,” said Frank as he reached Husha’s bench and half cave.

“But not of a sheep!” exclaimed Lord Pelton breathlessly.

And then, their eyes wide, all saw, plainly enough in the full sunlight, a brown and weather beaten human skull. It lay in the rear of the big ram’s refuge and with it the half buried ribs, legs and arm bones of a human skeleton. Speechless, all leaned forward. The rank odor of the half cave was almost overpowering and the ledge was covered inches deep with animal refuse. But, in spite of these, Frank and Phil jumped on the bench.

The same thought was in the mind of each. Nervously they began an examination of the bones. Not a vestige of clothing was to be found but, behind the disjointed skeleton lay a long, decayed stick.

“An Indian bow,” whispered Frank.

From between the bones of the body Phil[272] drew forth a bit of metal—the silver bowl of a small pipe.

“And an Indian pipe!” he exclaimed.

Kneeling in the dust the boys eyed each other for a second and then Frank turned to their companion.

“Lord Pelton,” he said with suppressed excitement, “you don’t need to have any doubt that our big sheep is Husha the Black Ram. This skeleton is that of the only man who could have followed him here.” Then he held up the dry skull. “This is all that is left of Koos-ha-nax, the............