326 IN THE LAND OF THE BORA. 



An hour or so further on a hare crossed the path 

 — a bad omen, destined to be justified. We now 

 left the hounds, and ascended a long steep ridge. 

 After a good bit of this, old Didic sat down to 

 adjust a sandal, and then said, " Now we'll go 

 up the hill." This remark seemed to me super- 

 fluous, as we had been rising ever since we left 

 camp, but when I found myself turning the 

 shoulder of as awkward and sheer an aiguille of 

 rock as I had seen in a season's chamois-shoot- 

 ing, I knew what he meant. Afterwards, how- 

 ever, the going was better, and finally thicker 

 wood promised easier slopes. From this wood 

 we emerged on an edge so tremendous that 

 anything at the bottom would have been quite 

 out of shot. Didic, however, said it was a good 

 pass for chamois, so we took post. The opposite 

 hillside was a mass of similar cliffs and rocks, 

 but, unfortunately, again the gorge was far too 

 wide to shoot across. 



We had not been half an hour waiting before 

 I heard the sound of the grelots, or bells, attached 

 to the hounds' collars. This is a French dodge, 

 and an excellent one for shooting over hounds. 

 In the first place, the game is disturbed by the 

 sound and gets up, making it much easier for 

 the hounds to find ; and, secondly, it is an in- 

 estimable advantage to know at once whether 

 an animal heard approaching one through the 



