IN THE LAND OF THE BORA. 263 



of rocks, and then snow up to the shoulder of the 

 rock whence I must shoot. A dozen yards from 

 that edge I left my alpenstock, and commenced 

 the final crawl. Hardly had I hegan that, when I 

 felt a tickling sensation at the back of my head. 

 I looked round. As I had feared, the wind had 

 chopped right round again. The game was up, 

 unless, indeed, some unknown draught of air 

 among the rocks might yet draw the taint to one 

 side of the game. 



"Whew! whew!" As I had expected, two 

 hissing whistles greeted the appearance of my 

 head above the skyline. Having had the wind, 

 or perhaps, indeed, suspicious of my disappearance, 

 the artful animals had withdrawn to the far side 

 of the snowfield — say some four hundred yards — 

 and now proceeded to put a still further distance 

 between us. This time, however, they had over- 

 reached themselves, and arrived at the base of a 

 cliff not even they could surmount. They had, 

 therefore, to return to a couloir between us, and 

 thence work up the face of the pine-covered rocks. 

 It soon became obvious to me that their course 

 must bring them considerably nearer to me — not, 

 indeed, within fair range of my weapon, but I had 

 lost my temper, and determined to take the shot. 

 So I threw myself down and waited. In a few 

 seconds more they must disappear. Bang ! A 

 mad dash downwards showed the bullet had gone 



