life.

Not being sure whether the baby chamois was dead or not, the hunters
tried to make the mother leave the small body, but in vain. Not only
did she stamp her feet in defiance, but butted at them with her horns
in a savage manner that surprised them. At last there was nothing to
do but to shoot her, for they could not waste time, and the skin of a
very young chamois was exceedingly valuable.

[Illustration: "CHAFFER WAS THE FIRST TO MEET THE HUNTERS FACE TO
FACE."]

So, as she stood there, reckless and daring, and absolutely fearless
through her motherhood, there was a quick flash, another report, and
the mother chamois, the pretty wife of Chaffer, of whom he had been so
proud, dropped over the body of her baby and mingled her blood with
his. She died quicker than Chaffer, and she did not look at her
murderers as he had done, but kept her eyes fixed on her little one,
and her last movement was made towards it.

So Chaffer, his wife and little one all died on the same day, and in
the same manner, and even the hunters, rough and hardy mountaineers as
they were, had an uncomfortable feeling whenever they thought of the
brave death of the mother, and her pathetic defense of her little one.

But they were hunters, and it was their living, and so in due course
of time Chaffer's fine pair of horns were sold, the skin of his wife
was turned into soft, yellow leather, and the skin of his little one
was made into gloves.