CHAPTER XLVII 



MY FIRST SHOT AT A MARKHOR 



THE night was pitch black, and the morning dawns 

 dull and grey. Wrapped in mist, the new-born day 

 begins its round of work. 



The bearers were right after all. There are 

 certainly fresh tracks of the markhor to be seen. 

 We follow them carefully. They lead us up a steep 

 incline and hurry us over the frozen snow where 

 they lead, we must follow. 



With untiring zeal the shikaris scoop out one 

 foothold after the other, and step by step we climb 

 upwards. From time to time loose stones and lumps 

 of ice fall with a clatter into the depths below. 



Why must the markhor choose this particular 

 route ! 



Dull peals of thunder come from afar, and 

 brilliant flashes of lightning make the dark day light. 

 From time to time puffs of wind scatter the mist, 

 driving it from rock to rock. Intermittent sunbeams 

 are sharply eclipsed by angry clouds. Every now 

 and then a momentary pause occurs, reminding one 



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