CHAMBA 19 



We were standing on a very steep hillside, where 

 some young pine trees were growing, and it was 

 covered with long, extraordinarily slippery grass. 

 It was a fine place for a stalk, as all we had to do 

 was simply to sit down and slither. And slither we 

 did, down that grass, at about twenty miles an hour, 

 hidden by the trees, and stopping ourselves when we 

 could by catching hold of branches. All the same 

 we did it fairly quietly. 



When we were about a hundred yards from the 

 flock, we pulled up, though with difficulty, and Fuffia 

 gave me the rifle. He pointed out the biggest male, 

 and as there was no place to stand level, he held my 

 leg so that I should not slip. I felt him still shaking 

 with excitement, so, to try and get steadier, I rested 

 the rifle against a tree, had a nice broadside shot 

 and missed. I thought at first that the kart was 

 hit, as he half sat down (I had grazed his back), but 

 he gave me time for a second shot, gave a jump, 

 then fell and rolled several hundred feet down the 

 hill. The other kart began to move off and I missed 

 one, but managed to hit another who reared up and 

 fell head over heels backwards, bumping and rolling 

 over rocks, until he was brought up in a nullah, five 

 hundred feet below. 



We scrambled and slithered down to the nullah, 

 and all the way Fuffia was salaaming, bowing his 

 head till it touched the ground and saying a good deal 

 about Kismet. He had that morning exchanged the 

 coolie that he took with him previously for another, 

 and he said the reason was, " It may be ruled by 

 Kismet that we shall have no luck with Baja." 



