102 THE MARKHOR 



We begin our flank attack by marching through 

 several narrow defiles, keeping an eye on Bruin, who 

 is still hard at work on his cold repast. It gives him 

 a lot of trouble, but how he will enjoy it in the end ! 



We are, however, still much too far off to risk a 

 shot. Eight hundred yards, at least, still lie between 

 us and our prey. We dare not go straight on, as 

 there is no cover whatever, and impassable ravines 

 make a roundabout way out of the question. 



So there is nothing to be done but to wait and 

 watch ; and this we do for about one and a half hours. 



Naughty old Bruin gives us a hard lesson in 

 patience ; but at last he seems to have eaten his fill. 

 He stops digging, stands still buried in thought, raises 

 his head, walks round his field of action, stands still 

 again, looks all round, and stares motionless in our 

 direction for several minutes. Then he begins to 

 waddle off towards us, goes slower, sniffs, eyes our 

 hiding-place, turns over a few stones and sticks his 

 snout into everything. Suddenly he disappears into 

 the hollow just below us. 



" Two hundred and fifty yards," whispers Sultana. 

 " If only he would come up again now ! " 



I think it is more than 250 yards. The natives 

 have, it is true, splendid eyesight, but they are not 

 good judges of distance. 



It must be at least a good 400 yards. That 

 means aiming higher, for my telescope stands at 

 175 yards. 



