MOUFFLON-STALKING IN CYPRUS 357 



Meanwhile I had engaged another Turk, by name 

 Mehemet. His great idea was that I should go out 

 early — as I supposed in the hope of catching the 

 animals returning from feeding. I agreed to his 

 plan, but the first occasion was hardly a success, the 

 men over-sleeping themselves, and I being the first 

 to awake in camp — but too late. 



Mehemet was a fat-faced Turk with an appalling 

 squint. He also had been with the previously-men- 

 tioned Englishman on his unsuccessful expeditions, 

 and was full of his doings. It was : " Here the 

 Captain saw twelve." " These egg-shells were left 

 by the Captain, who lunched here one day." " Here 

 the Captain : ' Bang ! Whizz ! Tut-tut-tut ! Bang ! 

 Whizz ! Tut-tut-tut ! ' " Until, although the repro- 

 duction of my successor's misfortunes was rather 

 comical, I felt inclined to say, like the young Irish 

 lady in the story, "The blazes take the Cyaptin ! " 

 especially as a terrible fear that my bag might be 

 like unto his was beginning to steal over me. 



To make up for over-sleeping themselves they called 

 me on the following day at a quarter to four, and an 

 hour later I left camp, preceded by Mehemet carrying 

 a torch of pine splinters, for it was pitch dark. It 

 was a weird walk through the forest, our path fol- 

 lowing the course of, and often far overhanging the 

 course of, the Ayias river. On occasions like these 

 one cannot help thinking of the many similar groups, 

 sportsman and native, to be found hunting unfamiliar 

 animals all over the world every season, often, like 

 ourselves, unable to speak to each other, and driven 

 to the use of those signs familiar to those "know- 

 ledgeable" in such matters, no matter what their 

 colour or country may be. Our progress was slow, 



