THE CHAMOIS 93 



and the fact that a good buck was hanging by the crooks of 

 his horns to the eaves outside had probably also something 

 to do with it. 



One more chamois stalking incident may perhaps be per- 

 mitted to find space here, as it will illustrate another aspect of 

 the sport obtainable in a peasant-shoot. The shoot in question 

 skirted for many miles the boundary between Tyrol and 

 Bavaria ; the preserve on the latter side marching with it, being 

 a favourite hunting ground of the late King, was hence par- 

 ticularly strictly guarded. Preparing myself for a three or four 

 days' absence in the mountains, I left the main valley one 

 August morning and reached the Alp-hut which I proposed to 

 make my headquarters late the same afternoon. In the locality 

 referred to, the duty of herding the cattle driven up to these 

 elevated pasturages is performed by girls instead of by men. 

 The stout-armed and stout-hearted lass will often be for 

 weeks quite alone in her hut, miles of mountain wilds be- 

 tween her and the nearest habitation. On getting to the 

 hut I found installed in it, instead of buxom Moidl, her brother 

 Hans, a bold climber, inveterate stalker, and best of fellows 

 withal. Hans and I were acquaintances of old, and he had no 

 secrets from me. What that meant will be better understood 

 when it is mentioned that the Bavarian frontier line was within 

 rifleshot of the hut, following the backbone of a steep ridge. 

 Beyond that invisible line death awaited the poacher ; for the 

 Bavarian keepers were well known to entertain no scruples 

 about reversing the order prescribed by law, and would 

 shoot first and then only call upon their foe to surrender, a 

 condition of things which naturally led to retaliation and 

 sanguinary feuds. Hans and I were sitting in front of the 

 hut smoking our pipes, and it needed no glasses to see that 

 those black specks on yonder arete were the game of game, and 

 Hans' eyes, sparkling with excitement, involuntarily travelled 

 from the chamois on the far cliff towards a huge old larch-tree 

 a couple of hundred yards from where we were sitting, shattered 



