MOUFFLON-STALKING IN CYPEUS 369 



with my head swollen to the size, and very much 

 the shape, of a Kugby football, and my "rifle eye" 

 as completely closed as if a Sayers or a Heeoan had 

 planted a left-hander in it. However, a clever little 

 Armenian doctor put me right with heroic doses of 

 calomel and quinine so far as to get me out of bed 

 a week after I had intended to have started, and 

 about again in another week. 



As the season was so fast slipping away, I decided, 

 in spite of a large unhealed wound on my forehead, 

 to start on the 1st of February, and I did so, riding 

 an easy-paced mule up to the police -barrack at Phyti 

 in five hours. This is one of the most prettily 

 situated of these buildings, and the balcony of the 

 strangers' rooms overlooks the Bay of Khrysokou 

 and the white - capped range of Taurus across the 

 intervening sea, but this latter is only clearly visible 

 in early morning. The Cyprus mountains are not 

 to be seen from this point, but I had noticed the 

 day before that, although Troodos was white with 

 snow, there was none on the range for which I was 

 making. 



The next day was as fine as that before, but there 

 was the usual long and unnecessary delay whilst the 

 mules were being got ready. When they did come I 

 rode ofi* without waiting for my men. Before I reached 

 the line of white pillars which marks the boundary of 

 the forest I had come across an old grey fox, two 

 woodcocks, and various coveys of stone- hens, all 

 close to the road ; but human beings I met none 

 during my four hours' ride to the lonely forest hut 

 at Stavro. 



The forest seemed perfectly quiet ; there was no 

 sound of the woodcutters' axes; and altogether 



2 A 



