256 SPORT IN MONGOLIA. 



began to wonder if the fears which so often assailed me 

 were destined to come true. But a great day was 

 coming, one of those red-letter days which stand 

 out so clearly in the life of a sportsman. 



It was the 13th of August, and the sun was just 

 rising in a cloudless sky as we left our quarters on the 

 banks of a tiny stream. But there was that hard cold 

 look in the heavens which tells that you need expect 

 no warmth from the dazzling sun, shine he never so 

 brightly, and ere long a wind swept over the bare 

 bleak hillsides, which made progress against it a severe 

 ■effort, and chilled the blood in our veins, till feet and 

 hands became numb, and the teeth chattered with the 

 cold. We toiled long and hard and saw nothing, and 

 at length at one o'clock, as I sat shivering under the 

 lee of a rock, making the most of the slices of cold 

 gazelle which made my lunch, Pombo crept up to me, 

 and after shaking his head pointed repeatedly in the 

 direction of camp. The temptation was great, to hurry 

 back to the shelter of our tents ; but I had been look- 

 ing round, and through my glasses had just caught 

 sight of a herd of rams. 



I pointed in their direction. Pombo gazed blankly, 

 ^nd then, "Stones," he said. "Koshkhor" (rams), I 

 answered. Pombo shook his head, took my glasses, and 

 stared into vacancy. " Koshkhor," I said again. He 

 looked at me, wavered, and then, " Malinka" (small). 

 Our means of carrying on a conversation intelligible to 

 both parties were limited — a few words of Russian, 

 English, and Kalmuk, and a large assortment of gesticu- 

 lations. "Bolshoi" (big), I maintained. Pombo re- 

 fused to give way, so I took matters into my own 

 ,hands, tethered the ponies in a hollow, — the other 

 Kalmuk was not with us, — and signed to Pombo to 

 follow me. 



