148 A DAY WITH A RAM 



our next spy saw the whole herd of a dozen 

 animals lying amid the rocks, surrounding a ram 

 whose head was silhouetted in magnified magnifi- 

 cence against a background of deep blue. The 

 stalk was an easy one ; the wind strong from the 

 east and the ground favourable. Though not over- 

 prone to count my heads before they have fallen, 

 I confess that I felt very sanguine as to getting 

 a shot at him within the next two hours. 1 

 accordingly set out on the climb which lay before 

 me. When about half-way up Lao-Wei sud- 

 denly remembered he had left my camera. I sent 

 him back for it, climbed on, and spied again. The 

 herd were still lying peacefully on the crest of the 

 ridge where we had just seen them — a good view 

 of the corrie before them, the wind on their flank, 

 and the pinnacle of rock rising 120 j'^ards behind 

 them from which I expected to obtain my shot. 

 I turned to look for the hunter, and saw him 

 wildly gesticulating and waving on the slope below. 

 At a loss to understand these frantic signals, I 

 followed their direction, and was horrified to find 

 no less than three Thibetans, bent double beneath 

 their loads, wending their deliberate and fore- 

 ordained course immediately through the centre of 

 the corrie. The sheep were bound to see them, 

 and my hopes sank to zero. I am loath to confess 

 it, but I have in the past entertained feelings of 

 aversion to several individuals. I hated a Scotch 

 shepherd who appeared on the skyline within fifty 

 yards of a very fine stag I was stalking ; I hated 

 a Mormon baby in whose company I once travelled 

 to Salt Lake City ; I hated a man who got to 

 windward of me on a rough day crossing the 



