nd under the shadow of a cluster of
stunted, gnarled trees, we removed the saddles, and then prepared our
dinner, which we stood in some need of, having been without food from
the time that we started in the morning, long before sunrise.

"I wish that a flock of sheep would stray this way," Mr. Brown said,
while scraping some dried grass together for the purpose of making a
fire, while I was occupied in undoing the pack which contained our
provisions, as well as our tools and cooking utensils; "I feel like
having a mutton chop for supper," he continued.

"Behold your wish," I replied, pointing to a flock of about a thousand
sheep, led by a patriarch, whose horns proclaimed many hard-fought
battles, just winding their way towards the salt lick from behind a
small knoll that stood between us and Mount Tarrengower.

Mr. Brown coolly drew his revolver, and apparently calculated the
distance.

"What do you intend to do?" I asked, seating myself on the pack, and
watching his proceedings.

"Have a mutton chop for supper, if those animals come within pistol
shot. Keep quiet, and don't alarm them, and you will see how delicate I
will do the trick."

I was too hungry to make many objections, and therefore followed the
advice of my friend. On came the flock, the old patriarch at their head,
unsuspicious of danger, and thinking probably of the rich treat which he
was about to confer upon his numerous harem, by allowing them to partake
of a bit of salt grass at the close of the day.

We were so well concealed by the trunks of the trees, that the sheep,
generally wild and suspicious of strangers, did not discover us until
the old ram was within about two rods of our hiding place; then he
suddenly stopped, and snuffed the air as though he smelled an enemy, and
the flock, governed by his actions and motions, likewise halted and
looked around, to discover the cause of the commotion.

For a few seconds all was quiet, with the exception of a number of
bleating lambs in the rear, and just as the ram was once more elevating
his head to scent the air, Mr. Brown fired. A fine fat ewe sprang into
the air, and then rolled over and over in the agonies of death.

"A good shot!" cried Mr. Brown, but hardly were the words from his mouth
when there was a rushing sound, and before I could interfere, or raise
my voice in warning, the old patriarch had charged past me. My comrade
saw his danger, but disdained to use his revolver in such a qua