ARRIVAL AT THE HUNTING GROUNDS 135 



Ali about it, he told me that the snow owls are day 

 feeders, and do all their hunting in the light hours. 



Suddenly — a low insistent soft trumpeting on the 

 snow fields high over our heads. Ibex ! 



Everything was propitious, weather, and — most 

 variable of all — Ali's temper. 



An infinitesimal mountain tarn, frozen at its edges, 

 glittered in the sun, and round this we skirted to enter 

 a defile of massive granite rocks, shaped like pre- 

 historic animals. This dreary place converged on a 

 magnificent plateau, set above a series of saddle-shaped 

 ridges stretching away to the horizon, — typical tur 

 country. 



Spying out the land carefully, my glass showed me 

 four or five animated specks on a far ridge, and one — 

 Ye Gods ! — on the nearest. 



The wind of this altitude being momentarily in our 

 favour gave me the chance of a successful stalk, which 

 should land me on the shoulder of the ridge well above 

 my quarry. Dream stalks are always so adroitly 

 managed ! 



I took my rifle from Ali, and set off on a long 

 series of crawls and rests and squirms and wriggles 

 round the neck of land which linked up the saddle 

 eminence with the plateau. Ali followed me closely, 

 far too closely, but he would not notice my signals, 

 and I couldn't make him understand me even if it 

 had been wise to try. 



Just as I got almost within range, and I knelt to 

 take my bearings, the tur began to move, but uncon- 

 cernedly. He halted again, and then sprang to a 



