384 CHAMOIS HUNTING. 



it never forgotten, quiet is the most essential thing to be 

 preserved in every chase. 



The road through the mountains to Scharnitz lies amid 

 the grandest scenery. At the end of the valley called 

 the Eng, a rampart of silvery-grey rock, with zigzag 

 summit, rises to bar all egress in that direction. In 

 turning into the Karwendel Valley the same vast forms 

 are now on either side of you. The line of stone is only 

 interrupted by a rent in the mountain chasm, and you 

 are able to look up and into the awful hollow where De- 

 solation and Death seem to dwell together. There a 

 slope of loose time-bleached stones stretches from reced- 

 ing peaks down and down in almost endless sameness to 

 the foot of the mountain, and leads out of that crater- 

 like place, where the sunlight never enters, into the glad 

 face of day. And over the steep upland huge blocks of 

 glaring stone lie tossed about in disheartening confusion, 

 crushing and obliterating all vegetation, and testifying 

 to the fearful throes of some long-gone century. Per- 

 pendicular walls of rock, bare as slabs of marble, are 

 more frequent here than in the Hinter Riss. Here all 

 is wildness, and every rock you look on speaks to you 

 of convulsion, of fiery pangs and suffering. The gerbll 

 too extends here in much longer lines than in the Riss, 

 and there are few objects which impress so mournfully 

 as such tracts of barren stones. Being late in the season, 

 the herdsmen and milkmaids had all left the pastures 

 with their cattle, so that neither the cheery shout of the 

 peasant-boy nor the sound of the sonorous bells was 

 heard to enliven the valley as we passed. 



Arrived at our little inn, after a walk of ten hours and 

 a quarter, the first thing was to consult with the keepers 

 about what was to be undertaken. As we sat at supper 

 our companions were watching with scowling glances a 



