i82 CASUALS IN THE CAUCASUS 



And even a savage grows mild when he is instruct- 

 ing a woman in things she ought to know and 

 doesn't. 



After the spoor left the glacier tracking became most 

 difficult, for the nature of the ground gave no hint 

 of the passing of a large beast. It was stony, with dry 

 tufted mosses struggling for life, very different from a 

 sand waste where the imprints stand out, or from damp 

 oozy soil in which embedded tracks tell their history, 

 their age, and all about themselves. It's hard to make 

 deductions from a heap of stones. 



We each took a prescribed radius of the mountain- 

 side for thorough investigation — neck-aching work. I 

 made nothing of my bit of country. All I found was a 

 " niffy " portion of a long-dead tur. The eagles had 

 been at him, and now the sexton-beetles were con- 

 scientiously playing undertaker. 



As all hope of running our quarry to earth died 

 hard, Ali whistled softly. He had crossed another 

 snow-patch in his wanderings, and joy ! on its surface 

 the looked-for imprints appeared again — very many 

 tracks — showing that this was the main route traversed 

 daily. Carefully we sorted out the footsteps which 

 we took to be the most recent, and followed whither 

 they led. Abruptly they lost themselves again on a 

 wide plateau, where small stones lay scattered thickly 

 at the mouth of a cave-like aperture, arching over 

 our heads. The entrance to a massive grey pile, like 

 the ruins of some vast cathedral. 



Going warily now, we passed beneath the sombre 

 portals into the midst of a piece of wild masonry 



