76 CHAMOIS HUNTING. 



" He cannot be far off, Berger," I said ; " look at 

 the blood. That 's the right colour deep red ! Here 

 he stopped for a moment ; but how strange that with 

 two such shots he should still climb that rock !" 



Mounting over a block of stone, Berger looked down 

 among the rocks, and presently cried out, " There he 

 lies !" I soon joined him, and looked at the spot 

 where he had made his last effort and had given his 

 dying leap. We slid down and stood before our cha- 

 mois. My first ball had gone right through the body 

 in an oblique direction downwards ; the second too 

 was well lodged. We laid our rifles aside, and Berger, 

 taking out his hunting-knife, prepared to gralloch the 

 chamois. It was a doe, that had no kid. I looked 

 around while Berger was busied with his work, to see 

 the wild spot whither the chamois had led us. It was 

 a narrow chasm among the rocks; behind us the 

 high, grey, weather-beaten walls rising perpendicularly, 

 and below a slope of barren stones of all forms and 

 sizes flung together indiscriminately. 



The chamois cleaned, I opened my rucksack, and 

 laying it on the ground, put our chamois into it 

 all four feet together, and the head hanging out of 

 the opening in the middle. Berger lifted it on my 

 shoulders, and then, staff in hand, we went down over 

 that wild sea of stones. Though such a. chamois as 

 I had shot that day might not weigh more than 4 Oft., 

 it is still an impediment to one's free movements 

 where the road to be traversed is uneven or difficult : 

 such a dead weight settles down and hangs against 



