CHAPTER IX 



TWO CHAMOIS HUNTS 

 I 



EVERYTHING was deep under snow in 

 the high Alps. 

 It is seven o'clock in the morning, when 

 our little company begins to get under way 

 from the hunting-lodge, Hopfreben, in the 

 Forest of Bregenz. 



First goes my trusty head huntsman, 

 Briigger. He is a typical mountaineer, thin 

 and wiry, with sinews like ropes, and big, 

 bright eyes. We have already shot many 

 a chamois, and been through much together, 

 and that affords the truest sense of comrade- 

 ship. Among the snowy mountains we are 

 no longer master and dependent, but just two 

 chamois hunters who love their mountains 

 and the chase. He and my other huntsmen 

 come from the Zillertal; and every one of 



75 



