BAD LUCK 



move my position on the precipitous crag was im- 

 possible. The only thing was to hope for a clear 

 shot when they continued their course. 



They passed on, the cliff, on which we were 

 perched, hiding them from view. It was some time 

 before they reappeared, and, when they did so, 

 they were on the top of a ridge fully four hundred 

 yards away. A few seconds would take them out 

 of sight for good ; so when the last one stopped for 

 a moment on the summit of the ridge, I fired. 



It was a forlorn hope ! The chamois neither 

 flinched nor fell, and disappeared evidently un- 

 touched. 



And then the climax to our bad luck occurred ! 



I was in the act of slipping a fresh cartridge into 

 the right barrel when some inner feeling warned me 

 to turn my head to the left. There, on a shoulder 

 of mountain not a hundred yards off, standing out 

 big and black through the falling snow, the long 

 hairs on his back waving in the wind, was a 

 magnificent buck chamois ! 



To ram the cartridge home, close and cock the 

 rifle, and bring it to my shoulder, was the work 

 of no time. But too late ! With a whistle of 

 alarm, the old fellow had wheeled round and dashed 

 back out of our sight for ever ! 



Bad luck indeed ! If I had only not fired that 

 long and useless shot at the other two, I should have 



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