AT4 The Bearded Vulture 
time to time scanning a sierra beyond the plain which I suspected 
to be the home of a pair of Black Vultures. How long I sat 
there I do not remember but as I swept my glass across the 
distant hills to my front I chanced to pick up a big bird flying 
towards me. It was still over a mile, possibly two miles distant, 
but a second glance showed me it was a Bearded Vulture winging 
its way straight at me. Dropping my glass I gripped my gun 
which lay across my knees and glanced round for some shelter 
from view. Seeing none near at hand and realizing that any 
movement on my part might be fatal, I resolved to remain motion- 
less where I was. On came the great bird, obviously unaware of 
my presence. Doubtless my stained shooting clothes assimilated 
with the weather-beaten rocks I was leaning against and, by bow- 
ing my head, my sombrero hid that greatest foe to all successful 
sport, especially Bustard-driving, or attempts at concealment in war 
or peace, the red face of a British soldier. 
The Bearded Vulture was now within 50 yards of me, in 
another instant he would be assuredly mine and at that time, be it 
remembered, | was most anxious to kill one! Now for the first 
time in my life did I realize what an extraordinarily handsome 
bird it is, the fierce-looking head with silvered crown and black 
‘“moustaches,” as well as the bristly black beard, contrasting with 
the rich red throat and breast, as with sweeping black pinions it 
came right at me. It was quite clear it was making for the crag 
only a few feet above my head as a point of vantage whence to 
survey the surrounding country. I had by chance already selected 
the same ‘ look-out” and for similar reasons. 
When the great bird was within 20 yards I sprang up and 
raised my gun. I shall never forget the savage look of its pale 
orange eyes, with the encircling blood-red membrane, as it suddenly 
checked its flight and, swinging round with a rush of wings 
resembling the noise produced by a steam jet, whirled away. 
