142 THE MARKHOR 



There they stand, as if turned to stone, grey 

 against grey, of a gigantic size, with their heads 

 raised, long, knotted beards hanging from their 

 necks, and horns of a majestic length spreading 

 upwards like creatures from another world. 

 Without a sound, motionless as marble, with a 

 stillness as of death they stare at me. 



There are five of them. 



Up goes my rifle as quick as lightning, and steadily 

 taking aim, I shoot at the front one. 



He falls and lies like a log, whilst the others 

 trundle down the mountain-side in lumbering 

 bounds. 



And now, at last, I am able to distinguish the 

 master-buck. His horns are much longer and 

 wider apart, his neck is much broader, and his beard 

 thicker and longer than the others. 



He takes the lead. I follow him with my rifle, 

 aim with deliberation, shoot. But without making 

 a sign the buck continues his journey. 



" A miss," whisper the shikaris. 



" In Allah's name, Sahib, shoot again," they croak 

 out the next moment, and there, before our eyes, 

 in full sight, stands the first buck as large as life, 

 and before I can re-load he has slowly taken cover 

 behind some rocks. 



" He will lie down again in a minute," says 

 Sultana comfortingly. " Be careful, Sahib ; we've 

 got plenty of time," and so saying he prevents me 



