MORE TUR HUNTING 195 



It took us a long time to reach the water-logged 

 prize, but when we did we saw that his watery grave 

 was shallow and hardly covered him. The beautiful 

 horns rose above the surface, like gnarled arms. That 

 they remained intact after such a battering was a 

 sporting miracle. 



Only we could not retrieve him ! Try as we would, 

 the creature was immovable and firmly embedded 

 between two rocks ; so, after an average wetting apiece, 

 we decided on returning to camp and sending out the 

 men to conduct salvage operations. 



Kenneth was among his entomological boxes again. 

 He hadn't shot anything all day, but had netted a sort 

 of long-drawn-out " Daddy-Long-Legs," with a tiny red 

 face and swollen body, which he said was a great find. 



The wood-foraging party had not returned. We 

 were just beginning to cast predatory eyes on the camp 

 furniture borrowed from the shooting-box when one 

 of the men appeared on the bare slope below, driving 

 before him the two mules piled high with faggots. He 

 did not seek to unload the beasts, but made a bee-line 

 for Kenneth, when a mysterious confab ensued, made 

 up of arm-wavings, a sort of dumb-crambo entertain- 

 ment, for Kenneth's linguistic powers stopped off at 

 Lesghian. 



Cecily and I, all inquisitive, joined the group, and 

 sat in judgment on a play on words, words which 

 thoroughly mystified and befogged us all. 



As the man stood waiting expectantly for his reply, we 

 three compared notes as to what on earth the thing was 

 about. Kenneth's idea of it was that the man wished 



