UP THE MOUNTAIN. 247 



on this stone. He came along by yonder broken ground, 

 and through the hollow. I could not see his antlers ; 

 however I fired, but it was too dark to look for him 

 afterwards. As it was impossible to go home, I sat the 

 whole night under that tree, and the worst of it was it 

 rained all the time. In the morning I found him : he 

 had not gone far, for by chance I had hit him well." 



Some distance up the mountain was a rude log-hut. 

 We went to it, for in such a place traces are often found 

 indicative of who were the last lodgers, or if any one 

 has been there beside the herdsman or the woodcutter. 

 On the door was written — 



" In the lower hut. 



Wolf." 

 It was fastened with a wooden peg outside, so we knew 

 there could be no one within. It was a miserable shelter, 

 just high enough to stand upright in, and round some 

 stones placed together on the ground were the remains 

 of a wood fire. A bed of dried leaves and hay was in 

 one corner, and after stirring and poking it about to see 

 if nothing was hidden there, we left the place. When a 

 poacher has rested or passed the night in a hut, he will 

 often leave behind him some marks of his sojourn ; and 

 an experienced eye will at once discover that the frag- 

 ments of a meal, the scrap of paper in which something 

 was wrapped, or the footsteps round the fire or leading 

 to the hut, were not the traces of its legitimate in- 

 habitants. Among the leaves, too, something or other 

 will be occasionally concealed, to be fetched away at a 

 convenient opportunity. Neuner said it was herdsmen 

 who had been there, and that the lire was of their mak- 

 ing. We saw a roebuck grazing among the latschen, but 

 he saw us too, and soon darted from our sight. 



We were now near the sky-line; a fow steps more and 



