38o SPORT IN THE HIGHLANDS OF KASHMIR chap. 



my care. The four animals jumped up, and running 

 towards me, disappeared for a moment under the curve 

 of the hill. I ran downwards, slipping in a cartridge 

 from the magazine, and a moment after saw their heads, 

 they seeing me at the same instant. They at once 

 bolted, and I fired at one of the big rams as they got to 

 the bottom. The peculiar sound, and the feeling of gas 

 blown into my face, told me that the base of the cartridge 

 had been blown out, as had occurred when I fired at the 

 burhel on the 31st of July, and opening the breech I 

 found that this was indeed so. I hastily pulled out 

 my knife, and fumbling with the champagne opener, 

 managed to pull out the broken shell, and to slip another 

 cartridge in. Closing the breech I aimed again at one 

 of the flying herd, which was then going up the opposite 

 hill, after having galloped across the hollow in which 

 it had been lying. Again the peculiar sound told me 

 that a second cartridge had burst, and of course there 

 was no knowing where the bullet had gone. Thoroughly 

 sickened by my ill luck, I shook out the broken shell from 

 the breech, and slipping in another cartridge, fired once 

 more. The herd was then climbing some rocks towards 

 the crest of a ridge parallel to the one I was on, and before 

 they went over the edge I managed to get in a couple more 

 shots at the big ram. Then the herd disappeared, and 

 I sat where I was — speechless with vexation. 



Beyond the ridge over which the rams had gone 

 was a valley, and on the far side of this rose a high hill 

 capped with snow. I was blaming myself for my bad 

 first shot, and the maker of the cartridges for the two 

 which burst, when I suddenly saw the rams as specks 



