250 AFTER WILD SHEEP IN THE SIBERIAN ALTAI 



stern-chases which so often end in failure. Over end- 

 less piles of shale we tracked the wounded beast, until 

 at last the sun sank behind the hills in the west, and 

 the chill shadow which enveloped the land sank deep 

 into our own souls as we made up our minds that 

 we must return home without him. 



One of the Kalmuks led the ponies slowly down 

 the hill, while I and Pombo walked on, intending to 

 join them lower down the valley. Suddenly, half an 

 hour later, just as we were scrambling down to the 

 valley bottom,, Pombo quite unexpectedly stumbled on 

 the tracks of the wounded beast again, and at the 

 same moment I heard a rattling of stones, and looking 

 up saw the wounded ram just on the other side of a 

 narrow valley in front of us. I threw up the rifle, 

 pushed up the 200 yards' sight, fired, and brought him 

 down, all before Pombo had time to realise what I 

 was doing ! And that was how I secured my first 

 pair of horns. It was a fortunate shot in more ways 

 than one, for when I got back to camp I found that 

 the man whom I had sent off the day before to buy 

 sheep had not returned, and we had literally exhausted 

 our supply of meat, the last bone having just been 

 boiled down to make soup for dinner. 



Another futile day on the Siberian side of the frontier 

 decided me to change my quarters and make a move 

 into Mongolia. Accordingly, having issued instructions 

 for camp to be moved across the watershed and pitched 

 on the banks of a stream at a spot known to the 

 Kalmuks, I started off across the mountains to the 

 south. It is fortunate that a benigfn Providence has 

 decreed that man remain in ignorance of what awaits 

 him. Had I foreseen the disappointment and exaspera- 

 tion which was awaiting me I should probably never 

 have started on that particular day's sport, but have 



