TAVO CHAMOIS HUNTS 81 



grasp. All at once, with overwhelming sudden- 

 ness, I hear a rushing, grumbling sound. My 

 huntsman leaps back like lightning, and 

 before my feet, not more than four yards 

 away from where I stand, the whole mass of 

 snow glides into the valley below; a great 

 white expanse, the size of the floor of a big 

 room. It must have been an old hollow, 

 frozen avalanche. It seemed perfectly safe, 

 and yet in a moment the whole thing slid 

 almost from under us. The grey grass of the 

 slope lay bare before us. 



Death, the great white death, had passed 

 within a few yards of us and had greeted us in 

 passing. 



I think each of us breathed a short but 

 sincere prayer. . . . 



Thoughtfully, and as carefully as if we were 

 treading on eggs, we turned and crept back 

 the same rough path we had climbed down. 



Only after a long detour which took some 

 hours did Mucksel bring the buck to the 

 hunting-lodge. We soon regained our spirits 

 with the help of a bumper of port. 



