THE BUSTARD. 107 



Perhaps the recounting of a few experiences would serve better to 

 give the reader some idea of bustard hunting than the above general 

 statements. 



Never shall I forget my first bustard. I was travelling in Shensi 

 at the time and we were nearing Si-an Fu. My companion had had 

 the misfortune to spram his ankle severely some days before, and was 

 obliged to keep to the saddle, so that when we reached some flat country 

 where bustards were plentiful, it fell to my lot to secure one for the 

 pot. Several times I tried stalking the wary birds, but without success. 

 Once I managed to get within twenty yards of a flock, but, though 1 

 emptied both barrels of my shotgun into the nearest bird, I could not 

 bring it down. 



We then resorted to the method I have just described. My com- 

 panion took the reins of my pony and we described a circle round a 

 large flock, slowly drawing nearer till within about one hundred and 

 fifty yards. At this point we passed behind some graves. I seized the 

 opportunity to slip off my pony, and, with the graves between me and 

 the birds, managed to get a few yards nearer. Then, resting my rifle on 

 the top of a grave, I fired, and was delighted to see a bird collapse in a 

 heap. My delight was somewhat lessened, when I found that I had 

 hit the bird in the head, which was some ten or twelve inches higher 

 than I had aimed. Still the bird was there and it tasted well when 

 roasted. 



A year later I successfully performed the same feat, this time 

 accompanied by my wife. We were travelling over the flat country 

 west of Ning-wu Fu in Shansi. All day we had been trying to get 

 within range of some bustards, but each time had met with failure. 

 Once I managed to sneak up a little watercourse to within range, but 

 before I could take aim the birds began to fly off. Another time I was 

 creeping along the ground towards a flock, when two Chinese with a 

 donkey came in the opposite direction, and when I rose to my knees to 

 take aim the birds had gone and in their place were two grinning asses 

 — and one sober one. My feelings on that occasion can better be 

 imagined than described. Once again I was approaching a flock, when 

 a native came blundering along, upsetting my calculations, so that I 

 only knocked the tail off my bird as it rose. This last flock flew over 

 a low ridge and we followed it in the hope that the bird I had hit might 

 be more severely wounded than we supposed. We failed to find that 

 flock again, but just as we were about to return to the road to continue 

 our journey, my eye caught a gleam of light about half a mile away 

 on a gentle slope. iWe turned our ponies in that direction and soon 

 found my conjectures to be correct. Six or seven magnificent birda 



