324 THE LAST HUNT 



flower was to be seen. Wet weather seemed to have fairly- 

 set in, and was interfering sadly with my sport. I was 

 told a strange story of a traveller in these parts, who was 

 probably an official of some kind on duty. He was 

 proceeding this way towards the Tibetan frontier, and had 

 his camp exactly where my tent was now pitched. A 

 lady of the country (a low-caste woman) was travelling in 

 his company, and he never came out of his tent till near 

 mid-day, after a comfortable breakfast, when he would place 

 himself in his lady's conveyance (a sort of hammock called 

 a clandi) and proceed to sport ; and he was successful too. 

 From this very camp he stalked a flock of rams on the 

 hillside above, being carried up in his hammock all the 

 way : when he was within range, he alighted and shot 

 three. This feat has not often been performed. He 

 seemed to have made a mess of his official business, 

 however: when he reached a place called Dokpa Sour, 

 within the Tibetan frontier, he had a misunderstanding 

 with the inhabitants, and cut off the pig-tail of one of the 

 principal men. This led to unpleasantness, and our 

 Government official was led back across the boundary, and 

 warned never to show his face there again. 



I saw this morning on the hillside very old drop- 

 pings of the kiang. Down in the valley I picked up 

 his skull, bleached by three or four years of exposure. 

 The teeth were completely worn down, and the anim.al 

 probably died of old age. Bow Singh said that they came 

 here sometimes for the new grass, and went back in 

 winter. If that is so, why should not Ovis amnion do 

 the same ? After two more blank days, wet and 

 wretched, I began to feel sure Bow Singh was playing 

 me false, and, sure enough, he showed his hand at 

 last. He could not, he said, cross the border for fear of 

 the consequences to him and his — the old story. I was 



