IN THE LAND OF THE BORA. 183 



of feathers on the spot where he had lain for five 

 minutes. Then I sit down and watch the dogs, 

 which have left the covert and are carrying a line 

 up the opposite brae. I imagine it to have been 

 a hare, or possibly a fox ; but presently I see three 

 birds running before them, which finally rise 

 singly when actually pressed, and settle again 

 lower down. I follow them up, but get none of 

 them. 



Meanwhile I have got very sick of the hare, 

 and also very thirsty, for a fine winter day here is 

 a warm day ; so I go to a native hut just above 

 and ask for mala voda (a little water). Precious 

 muddy stuff it is when it comes, but beggars 

 mustn't be choosers. Here I leave the contents 

 of my bag to be sent in next day, and stride down 

 the reverse slope of the hill towards the Blato. 

 A piece of rough stuff on my way looks worth a 

 visit. Piep ! piep ! up get a brace of quail. Quail 

 in December ! Astonishment and No. 5 shot may 

 excuse a bad miss ; but I have a mark on one, and, 

 reloading with No. 9, grass him. 



Here is the Blato. What a sight ! Myriads 

 of duck cover its waters, and hundreds of geese. 

 Dozens of white spots mark swans, and there are 

 numbers of solemn-looking herons and other waders 

 about. As I walk along the edge I get a snipe, 

 but the shot doesn't disturb the fowl. The bulk 

 of the geese are on a bit of grass to which a long 



