“What a pity that I didn’t happen along here when they first killed him!” was the boy’s mental reflection. “He must have been a fine fellow, judging by the size of those horns. Well, as I didn’t get the sheep, I’ll knock over a couple of the wolves for our museum; and the horns I’ll give to Sam Hynes to put up in his mother’s dining-room.” So saying, Oscar rested his rifle over the top of the bluff; and, drawing a bead on the largest of the wolves, waited with all the patience he could command for one of his companions to get behind him, hoping to kill both of them with one bullet. The wolves gnawed and snapped at one another over their meal; and, although they were constantly changing their positions, and the two that Oscar wished to secure frequently came within range, their motions were so rapid that he dared not fire at them for fear of missing his mark. At the report of his gun they would doubtless take to their heels, and his chances for shooting one on the run were not one in a thousand. While the boy was waiting for a shot, he was suddenly startled by hearing a loud snort close at hand; and, turning his head quickly, he was astonished almost beyond measure to see an immense mountain-sheep standing on the edge of the plateau. His gaze was fastened upon the wolves, whose presence did not seem to cause him the least alarm. It rather seemed to encourage him; for now and then he lifted one of his forefeet, and stamped it spitefully on the ground, after the manner of a domestic sheep. It was the first of these animals of which Oscar had ever obtained so near a view; and he told himself that in color and shape it resembled a deer more than it resembled anything else. It was covered with hair instead of wool, and its color was tawny, changing to white on the flanks and breast. But it carried the horns of a sheep, and they were really magnificent. Where the animal came from so suddenly Oscar did not know, nor did he stop to ask himself the question. He was there, and the next thing was to secure him. Remembering the mountain-sheep’s wary nature, Oscar exercised the utmost caution in turning the muzzle of his rifle from the wolves toward the buck. Fortunately he succeeded in accomplishing this without alarming the timid animal, which was giving all his attention to the wolves; and, glancing along the clean, brown barrel, the boy was on the very point of pressing the trigger when another interruption occurred. Three or four heads, adorned with horns like the gnarled branches of an oak, suddenly appeared above the edge of the plateau, and as many more came close behind them; these were followed by others; and, in less than a minute, a dozen full-grown bucks were standing in plain view of the young hunter, and not more than fifty yards away. CHAPTER XXIV. A FREE FIGHT.