143 



CHAPTER XII. 



SNOWED UP. 



Wb were to have started from Betcho at dawn, 

 for what both had agreed was to be positively 

 Frank's last hunt for tur in the mountains he 

 so heartily hated. The prince had been con- 

 fident in his auguries of success at the card 

 party of the night before, and as he was every- 

 where looked on as the one man to whom all 

 things were possible in Svanetia, and had 

 ordered his best hunters to escort us to the 

 best hunting ground of which they knew, even 

 my scepticism had m some measure given 

 way to hope. But disappointments began 

 early. First, neither horses nor men were 



