284 CASUALS IN THE CAUCASUS 



rocks rising to snow-patched slopes, bare and desolate- 

 looking. He bade me hold the place, Horatius-wise, 

 against all comers. Not a difficult job, as the defile 

 narrowed to the merest thread as it debouched on to 

 the plains beyond, and the easiest thing in the world 

 as the drive turned out. 



I took a perch on an enfilading rock and waited and 

 waited until I was weary of inaction. Nothing 

 happened. High above me, far out of range, I spotted 

 a couple of undisturbed chamois feeding. 



There are, of course, many methods of driving, but 

 the Prince's myrmidons had a patent of their own, 

 which worked out something after this style. 



The guns were posted in the passes without taking 

 the wind into consideration at all, the chief factor in 

 determining your location being a comfortable rock 

 to sit upon. So much for the guns. 



The beaters climbed high above the track they wished 

 to drive, and then swooped down in line to move the 

 game towards the passes. The animals dashed down 

 the slopes, when there were any to dash, into the defiles, 

 as being the only way out, and in the frenzied rush 

 you shot as many as you could, or desired. Of course it 

 all sounds possible on paper, but in reality I don't think 

 they ever once brought the thing off successfully. 



Keebeet afterwards ascribed this particular failure 

 to the fact that the tur of the region had been already 

 vigorously hunted on the historical occasion when the 

 Prince bagged eleven in one morning. I think, myself, 

 the mobs of wild ponies feeding everywhere disturbed 

 the game. 



