MEETING WITH POACHERS. 239 



rolling stones. Around us was quite a wood of latschen, 

 and above was the continuation of that ridge where I 

 had first seen the man. As we moved along I, sud- 

 denly stopped, and touched Berger, who was before 

 me, with my pole, that he might do the same. He 

 looked round, but my finger on my lips caused him 

 to keep silence. I listened for some time, but the 

 stillness was unbroken by any sound." 



"What was it?" whispered Berger. 



"Did you not hear something?" 



"No." 



"Well, but I did. Just above us a pebble rolled 

 down : it was as if it had been displaced by some 

 one's footsteps." However all was now still, and we 

 proceeded onwards. 



We had reached the ridge of the mountain, and 

 Berger sat down to look over into the space below 

 and try if chamois were to be seen. I chose a place 

 a little behind him and somewhat higher. By chance 

 I turned my head to the right, and there to my asto- 

 nishment I saw, not thirty yards off, the same figure 

 that I had observed before with my glass. I ducked 

 my head in a second, and pressing down Berger's 

 shoulders behind a latschen, pointed in the direction 

 of the poacher. We lay on the ground and watched 

 him, first with the naked eye and afterwards with our 

 glass. He was a young peasant, of about twenty : he 

 carried a bran new single-barrelled rifle, and the usual 

 riicksack was at his back. 



"We have him now, Berger!" I whispered. 



