6o MARKHOR SHOOTING 



beyond which the hillside fell away abruptly, while at my 

 back the rock rose perpendicular. Dinner consisted of 

 two lumps of tinned beef and two chapatis (cakes) cooked 

 the day before. It was dark, and the lantern had to be 

 lighted, then the umbrella had to be opened, and it 

 had to be held — trifles which become serious tasks in a 

 high wind. My attention was equally divided between 

 the lantern, which threatened every moment to take a 

 header down hill, the umbrella, which tried to elope with 

 every gust that came round the corner, and my own 

 mouth. I managed them all, for I was hungry, but I 

 have enjoyed more comfortable dinners. However, after 

 the eating apparatus had been put away, the umbrella 

 folded, and a glass of whisky and water stowed away over 

 the dinner, I was contented. The sense of comfort that 

 creeps over the sportsman at this hour, just before he 

 sinks into the sleep that is fast approaching, is well worth 

 the twelve hours' previous toil. 



I had not been asleep long when I was brought back to 

 a sense of my awkward position by snowflakes falling on 

 my face. My faithful umbrella, that usually formed part 

 of my pillow, saved my head, but snow was slowly piling 

 on the waterproof sheet over my blankets, and, while I 

 was speculating on the probable depth that would cover 

 me by morning, I fell asleep again ; but my slumbers were 

 disturbed. Fear lest my good umbrella should vanish in 

 an extra strong gust, prevented sound sleep. Its loss 

 would have been serious. I held it with one hand 

 all night, awaking several times — sometimes to see a 

 twinkling star overhead, sometimes to feel the steadily 

 falling snow. I had a series of dreams — demons were 

 rushing away with my helpless self and umbrella, or huge 

 markhor came peeping over the ledge of rock to look at 

 me defiantly, and my rifle not at hand ! I was well 



