80 TWO CHAMOIS HUNTS 



and more rapidly, at last in great bounds, into 

 a cloud of snow, to the valley below. . . . 



" Good Lord ! his horns — if only he hasn't 

 smashed his horns ! " cries the hunter. 



There he lies in a little dent on the old 

 avalanche some four hundred yards below us. 

 You can just see one horn through the glass. 

 There is nothing for it but to go down. 



So away we go on the difficult descent. 



The other two have roped me, and we start 

 carefully down the mountain. When we have 

 reached the edge of the old avalanche, on the 

 same level as the buck, but still some two 

 hundred paces away from him, Briigger begins 

 to look anxious. 



" Bad going, there," he says. 



I laugh at him and tell him that of course 

 we can manage it. We go carefully a step at 

 a time. The huntsman cuts steps, for the 

 snow is frozen hard here and goes in one long 

 precipice down into the wood. A single slip 

 and there is no chance of saving yourself. 



Every now and then I look back at Mucksel. 

 He walks silently, holding the rope in an iron 



