THE SABLE. 101 



came rougher, the ravines more precipitous. We 

 struggled up steep hills, fairly bucking our way 

 through low growth that proved all but impene- 

 trable. The idea was to find a sable feeding in 

 one of the little open glades ; but whenever I 

 allowed myself to think of the many adverse 

 elements of the game, the chances seemed very 

 slim. It took a half-hour to get from one glade 

 to the next; there were thousands of glades. The 

 sable is a rare shy animal that likes dense cover 

 fully as well if not better than the open. Sheer 

 rank bull luck alone seemed the only hope. 

 And as I felt my strength going in that vicious 

 struggle against heavy brush and steep hills, I 

 began to have very strong doubts indeed as to 

 that sable. 



For it was cruel, hard work. In this climate 

 one hailed a car or a rickshaw to do an errand 

 two streets away, and considered oneself quite a 

 hero if one took a leisurely two-mile stroll along 

 the cliff heads at sunset. Here I was, after a five- 

 hour uphill march, bucking into brush and 

 through country that would be considered diffi- 

 cult going even in Canada. At the end of twenty 

 minutes my every garment was not wringing but 

 dripping wet, so that when I carried my rifle 

 over my arm water ran down the barrel and off 



