66 CHAMOIS HUNTING. 



holding fast even for a moment on their moving sur- 

 face, there rose from minute to minute a low dull sound, 

 made by some rolling stone, which, set in motion by 

 its own weight, went pattering downwards into the 

 melancholy hollow. 



However, to stand looking upwards at the steep 

 snowy surface of the mountain, or gazing at the depth 

 below, was not the way to get a shot at the chamois ; 

 so giving my rifle a jerk to send it well up behind my 

 back, and leave the left arm free, I began to mount, 

 keeping in an oblique direction in order to lessen the 

 steepness of the ascent. Berger was before me, some- 

 times on his hands and knees, sometimes on his feet, 

 and looking every now and then anxiously behind to 

 see what progress I made. Neither of us got on very 

 fast, for a firm footing was impossible. If you slipped, 

 down you came on your face, with both feet nowhere, 

 and the rifle swinging over the left arm into the snow, 

 most inconveniently. Once, when I was quite unable 

 to plant either foot firmly, Berger, who was just above 

 me, and had, as it seemed, a safe spot on which to 

 stand, was obliged to let down his long pole that I 

 might hold on by it, and, with his heels well dug into 

 the ground, gave me a helping pull. We had mounted 

 half-way when suddenly both my feet lost their hold 

 on the snow, and somehow or other down I went 

 over the steep declivity on my back, like an arrow 

 sent from a strongly- drawn bow. It was disagreeable, 

 for I knew how difficult it is to stop when once 

 gliding at full speed down a lahne; and all my en- 



