A NEAK SHOT. 135 



appears into the darkness above. Then I sit 

 and wait for what seems hours, wondering if 

 this hunter of Radcha intends me to remain 

 extended for ever, a modern Prometheus, on 

 these Caucasian rocks. To get down by 

 myself in the darkness from my present perch 

 seems out of the question, and night spent 

 there almost equally so. 



At last I hear a shot, and some few minutes 

 after Simon comes skipping and sliding down 

 alongside me, as if he were merely descending 

 the mound in Greenwich Park. The light 

 had been too bad for him to make sure of his 

 shot, but he had got very near and believed 

 he had wounded a tur, a surmise confirmed on 

 inspection next morning ; for though we never 

 bagged the poor beast, the stones were red 

 with its blood. 



On our way back to the cave we heard 

 showers of stones come rattling down from 

 the rocks around us, as another herd came 



