48 HUNTING ADVENTURES. 



ihoigh they uave but one barrel ; the charges are put one above 

 another, and are fired in succession. If he has wounded the 

 chamois, he runs to his prey, and for security he hamstrings it ; 

 then he considers his way home : if the road is difficult, he skins 

 the chamois, and leaves the carcase ; but, if it is practicable, he 

 throws the animal on his shoulders, and bears him to his village, 

 though at a great distance, and often over frightful precipices ; he 

 feeds his family with the flesh, which is excellent, especially when 

 the creature is young, and he dries the skin for sale. But if, as 

 is the common case, the vigilant chamois perceives the approach 

 of the hunter, he immediately takes flight among the glaciers, 

 through the snows, and over the most precipitous rocks. 



It is particularly difficult to get near these animals when there 

 are several together; for then one of them, while the rest are 

 feeding, stands as a sentinel on the point of some rock that com- 

 mands a view of the avenues leading to the pasture ; and as soon 

 as he perceives any object of alarm, he utters a sort of hiss, at 

 which the others instantly gather round him to judge for them- 

 selves of the nature of the danger ; if it is a wild beast, or hunter, 

 the most experienced puts himself at the head of the flock ; and 

 away they fly, ranged in a line, to the most inaccessible retreats. 

 It is here that the fatigues of the hunter begin : instigated by his 

 passion for the chase, he is insensible to danger ; he passes over 

 snows, without thinking of the horrid precipices they conceal ; he 

 entangles himself among the most dangerous paths, and bounds 

 from rock to rock, without knowing how he is to return. 



Night often surprises him in the midst of his pursuit ; but he 

 does not for that reason abandon it ; he hopes that the same cause 

 will arrest the flight of the chamois, and that ho will next morning 

 overtake them. Thus he passes the night, not at the foot of a 

 tree, like the hunter ot the plain ; not in a grotw, softly reclined 

 on a bed of moss, but at the foot of a rock, and often on the bare 

 points of shattered fragments, without the smallest shelter. There, 

 all alone, without fire, without light, he draws from his bag a bit 

 af cheese, with a morsel of oaten bread, which mak e his common 



