126 CHAMOIS HUNTING. 



the water on the embers to boil ; into the other I poured 

 some rum, and having sugar with me we soon had a hot 

 and fragrant beverage. 



"What is it?" asked Maxl, as he sipped at the edge 

 of the pipkin . " what capital stuff ! Why, it 's like wine, 

 but it is too strong." And though it was far from being 

 anything like a norVester, I was obliged to add much 

 water before it suited his palate — so unvitiated by strong 

 drink was the taste of the hardy and frugal mountaineer. 



We talked about Baierisch Zell, Max Solacher's home ; 

 and he related to me how his father during the war had 

 received a shot through the lungs, " close to the hill," 

 said he, " which you passed in going there." 



"But how did it happen?" I asked. 



" Why, you see, he and seventy-five more went out 

 against five hundred Tyrolians, who had come with carts to 

 plunder the village. The men of Baierisch Zell of course 

 took care to get behind the trees and rocks j and being 

 good shots, each one brought down his man. My father 

 had already killed three, when he himself was hit — per- 

 haps he had shot even more, but of those three he was 

 certain." 



" It was a pity he was wounded so soon, for being so 

 cool and a good shot, he would have knocked over a 

 few more." 



" I remember," he continued, " my father used in par- 

 ticular to tell us of one man, an immense fellow, who 

 kept on loading and firing away like the devil. He was 

 a good shot, and almost all his balls told. He was stand- 

 ing behind a pile of wood, quite protected. Well, my 

 father marked him, and thought to himself, ( I'll soon 

 stop you, my boy V So he kept his eye on him and 

 waited; and just as he leaned a little forward to fire 

 again, my father was too quick for him; in the same 



