272 CASUALS IN THE CAUCASUS 



I wandered off along the top ridges of the valley, 

 above the tree-tops, sometimes penetrating downwards 

 when a tempting jungly trail allured me. Like old 

 Hazlitt on tramp, it will be hard if I cannot start some 

 game. My rubber-soled shoes made no sound, but 

 they slipped sometimes, ominously, on the damp 

 leaves and mosses. I soon came to bless the all- 

 pervading dampness, however, for instead of having to 

 contend with twigs and crisp leaves which go off in 

 tiny salvoes of artillery at every step, I sank into a lush 

 undergrowth which kept the secret of my passing. 



Then — lunch. Put up for me by the minions of the 

 " Castle." It was a weird collection of congealed lumps 

 of boiled mutton — there's something hideously hum- 

 drum about cold boiled mutton ! — and odd bits of dark 

 brown bread clapped together which bore a far-away 

 resemblance to sandwiches. These Gargantuan pro- 

 ductions were plentifully besmeared with honey, 

 honey so strongly flavoured with eucalyptus that my 

 lunch smelt like a chemist's shop. Of course, in the 

 wilds of Karbarda, cold mutton and eucalyptus honey 

 is a sumptuous repast, if not altogether a feast of 

 reason or a flow of soul. 



A sharp-eyed, slender rodent came " to haunt and 

 startle and waylay," a creature of tremors and alarms, 

 hungry, but very wary. He was a mink of sorts, with 

 slightly- webbed toes, pelage of chestnut brown, and a 

 white blaze on his chin. His tail was trying to be 

 bushy, but just missed that state, for he was not yet 

 through his summer moult. Winter would see him in 

 fine apparel. 



