THE KILLING OF THE GREY BEAR 187 



The sudden withdrawal of the sun warned us of the 

 flight of time. Amateurs at the job could not hope to 

 disrobe so large an animal under two or three hours. 

 Miles from camp, with the possibility that our hench- 

 man had abandoned us altogether, practically at sea as 

 to our locality, darkness had some terrors for us. I 

 suggested making a sort of funeral pyre to keep off 

 predatory creatures, and then we could return to the 

 dismemberment in the morning. For an hour we 

 worked at carrying stones to lay upon our victim, until 

 at last the grey bulk was encased in a Crusader's tomb, 

 over which the wind chanted a requiem and the 

 shadows drew about. 



And thus we left him, poor High Priest, dead in his 

 sanctuary. 



Groping our way out through the blackness, striking 

 matches at intervals, we held hands that we might not 

 lose each other. I cannot count the times we tumbled 

 down, or the awful cracks our rifles received. We were 

 some time before we struck the aisle of our entry, but 

 at last we could see in the distance the mountain slopes, 

 the ridges line on line, and the evening sky, luminous 

 and glowing, framed by the cavern's mouth. The 

 scene struck us both as one of unusual beauty, if indeed 

 two people who have just had the amazing luck to 

 shoot a specimen of the rare silver-grey bear of the 

 Caucasus can be judges of anything but their own 

 happiness. 



Just outside sat Ali Ghirik, dejected and abashed. 

 He began at once to explain his absence. He was not 

 well, the damp of the place did not suit him. His 



