ON PLAIN AND PEAK 



" Schiess! Schiess!" exclaims Wechselberger. 



It is very easy to say, but not so easy to do, 

 for the chamois is hidden every second by a tree or 

 a stone. I do "sc/uess, schiess" however, but in vain, 

 and the beast disappears unharmed in the wood 

 below. 



Another ten minutes' wait ; and then it seems 

 to me that straight in front of us, amongst the trees, 

 is some dark object that was not there two seconds 

 before. It is perfectly immovable, and so are we. 

 Minutes, that seem like hours, slowly pass ; but 

 at length when I have almost made up my mind 

 that I must be gazing at some hitherto unnoticed 

 root or stone it moves out on to a crag that 

 rises above the surrounding fir-trees. There it 

 stands a black silhouette against the blue sky ! 



The next moment my shot rings out, and the 

 chamois, springing high into the air, and turning 

 over and over, falls down . . . down . 

 into the abyss beneath. 



I have one more shot at a chamois that sneaks 

 upwards through the trees, and which goes its way 

 seemingly untouched, though Wechselberger affirms 

 that it is hit. 



In chamois driving everything that comes is, as a 

 rule, legitimate game Kitz-geisen and kids alone 

 excepted. The big old bucks are, however, what 

 one always looks and longs for. An old buck is 



178 



