i8o CASUALS IN THE CAUCASUS 



game I know the bear seeks diligently — and finds it, 

 too. 



A miniature glacier descended to the valley level, an 

 iridescent narrow way, the veriest baby of glaciers, 

 gleaming with prismatic colours in the sunlight. For 

 a few yards down its length the edges dripped water, 

 and towards its centre also the snowy stream was 

 softened by the action of accumulated moisture 

 beneath. 



As we interestedly examined the quaint shapes and 

 pinnacles, caves and fairy palaces, lit by a hundred 

 pharos-fires, we realized that something familiar stared 

 up at us from the icy surface, unforgettable imprints, 

 like, yet unlike, those of a man. The sloppy mould 

 still held the contour, and the spoor was unmistak- 

 able. A bear — and a good one, too. Right over the 

 glacier the footsteps went unhaltingly, evenly, in a 

 single trail, heels to us, toes to the great beyond. 



Quickly we got out the tape, and the impress of the 

 hind feet — all we could reach — came out at eleven 

 inches. 



We lost all interest in the further pursuit of hum- 

 drum tur. A grey bear allured us. We knew that the 

 tracks were those of the rare silver-grey, for he alone 

 frequents the snow-line, and whether his coat were bad 

 or good he must have a head, and that we envied 

 him. 



Besides, this grey Bruin of the Caucasus is an animal 

 worth the bagging. He is a fighter. I love a fight and 

 a good fighter, perhaps because I'm not an Achilles 

 and have so many vulnerable spots. Give me the 



