TUR HUNTING 147 



It was the cosiest, quaintest, prettiest place imagin- 

 able, and comfortable as could be. Cecily and I 

 accepted the proffered best room — the only room — 

 without compunction, and tents were put up for the 

 evicted owners. There was an excellent stove to keep 

 us warm o' nights, and real beds. A most sybaritic way 

 of chasing tur. 



Every traveller comes home to extol the Russian 

 translation of the word " hospitality." In our case it 

 broke all records. Not only did our sportsmen acquaint 

 ances give us the freedom of their hut and rations, but 

 they insisted on introducing us to the best tur corries 

 of the district, and the most generous of shikaris is 

 apt to freeze up a little if you touch him on the subject 

 of his own pet hunting grounds. They were even 

 interested in Kenneth's jungle stories — the very subtlest 

 form of hospitality — and listened patiently to the 

 difficulties he overcame when he shot his snow leopard 

 in Tibet, why he didn't bag that serow, and how the 

 yak tried to bite him. 



We had fried trout for breakfast, trout which had 

 lain all night on a shelf in our room, like loved relics. I 

 don't know how long they had been stored up, but 

 their little faces were quite blue, and their general 

 appearance was somewhat time-worn. Shisliks of 

 mutton there were also, done to a turn by a wiry 

 Cossack cook ; weak tea, piled high with sugar, 

 Russian-fashion, and the wine of Kakheti for those 

 who could face it so early in the morning. A delightful 

 meal, with the sun getting up, and the mists tip- 

 toeing up the slopes, like fluffy white coryphees. 



