TO THE HUNTING GROUNDS 89 



Here was colour, gorgeous, superb. Glowing red 

 poppies wound in crimson paths through a sea of 

 gentians, tiny starry forget-me-nots trusted to our 

 discernment to single them out from the flaunting 

 masses of wild sunflowers spreading far and wide in a 

 midsummer fire of gold. Clouded yellow butterflies 

 fluttered on slender wings above the wealth of flora, 

 fritillaries, too, like white blossoms blown by the wind. 



Far, far below us the pathless steppes ranged along 

 the valley of the Kara, streaking off in dull tones of 

 brown and gold to distant Baku, and across the 

 parched plains wound the silvery river, gUnting in the 

 sun, tirelessly journeying to the Caspian, To the 

 north, through the haze, gleamed the snow-tipped peaks 

 of the main chain. 



Mounting our unwilling steeds we rode across uneven 

 rolling ridges, a pasture land of ups and downs, with 

 little emerald glens between the grass-clothed billows. 



A wild, picturesque shepherd, with a lithe youthful- 

 ness in his step, paced the crest of a ridge ahead, 

 playing a primitive lute. Back and forth he peacocked, 

 his tattered garments fluttering in the wind. Suddenly 

 he turned and descended the hill-side towards us, in- 

 toning his "muse" as he went. As he walked, in 

 rapt enchantment, putting his feet into holes and 

 boulders, the very stones followed him, Orpheus-like, 

 and the sapling straying in his path bent to his will. 

 And at the foot of the slope Eurydice waited ; Eury- 

 dice, clad in a brilliant red skirt and cuirass of sheep- 

 skin. 



Riding down the ridge until we came to the timber 



