CHAMOIS HUNTING. 



Joseph, Berger, and myself now started, taking our 

 way through the meadows and along wooded slopes, 

 all dark, and solemn, and indistinct, despite the in- 

 numerable stars. We went towards the Miesing, and 

 soon after daybreak were already a good distance up 

 the mountain. Nothing was to be seen save a doe with 

 her kid. We crossed a field of snow, and Berger, creep- 

 ing forward to the ridge that overlooked a profound 

 depth, started back suddenly, exclaiming in a whisper, 

 " There are chamois !" They had seen him however, 

 and were already on the move. I ran forward to meet 

 them, and as they came on but slowly, to get a-head 

 of them was not difficult; then lying down at full 

 length, with my left arm resting on the ground, and 

 the rifle pointing almost perpendicularly downwards 

 over the rocks, I took a steady aim. I was in no 

 hurry, in no fever of excitement, but quite calm; 

 and, though the shot was a long one, feeling quite 

 confident in my rifle, and certain I should hit the 

 mark. I knew perfectly well that, firing downwards, 

 I ought to aim low ; and yet, instead of doing so, by 

 some strange unaccountable perversity I aimed high ; 

 and purposely so, conscious all the while of what I 

 was about. I fired, and the ball went just over the 

 animal's back. There was no excuse for having 

 missed; it was all owing to my own stupidity, and 

 this only made the matter more vexatious and pro- 

 voking. After the shot they turned back, and we 

 counted eight as they passed along far below us. 

 With our glasses we discerned a buck and a doe a 



