TUR HUNTING i57 



had seen a fair amount of game, but only got one good 

 chance, in the taking of which my cousin nearly lost her 

 life through the methods of her escort, who was, she 

 said, the most dangerous shot she had ever had the 

 ill-luck to encounter, and who, apparently, evolved his 

 own rules. 



When on a slope, walking side by side, with about 

 thirty paces between them, an ibex suddenly got up 

 on Cecily's right, and without any ado the Russian 

 blazed away across the line, almost bagging his 

 astonished companion, who instinctively threw herself 

 back. But for the backward movement Cecily declared 

 that she must have got the benefit of the bullet. The 

 small shikari even missed the tur ! 



We discovered later that he was the veriest tyro, 

 which just shows how idiotic it is to go out hunting 

 with strangers of whose skill and capacity you know 

 nothing. Fortunately there is a benign Providence 

 which looks after women who take on pastimes or 

 duties of a more or less dangerous nature — a far more 

 potent Providence than that which is responsible for 

 the comings and goings of mere man. I've always 

 noticed this curious fact, and presumed on it, as all 

 femininity does instinctively. A woman cyclist, for 

 instance, never thinks of overhauling her machine 

 from year's end to year's end. Once put together, 

 always stay together, is her idea of machinery of any 

 sort. Fearlessly, day after day, she hurls herself down 

 the most terrific hills, with every nut and screw loose 

 and hanging by threads, and yet the thing holds and 

 never gives her a single toss. If there is an accident, it 



