PTARMIGAN-SHOOTING. 103 



my back, Fitz-James-like, against a rock, I impatiently 

 hoped for the cessation of the storm. Scarcely had it 

 begun to abate, when an alpine hare came curtsying 

 past about eighty yards from my shelter, and then seated 

 herself with equal grace, as tempting a mark for a rifle 

 as could possibly be placed. It was not to be resisted 

 even with my small shot. So, slowly uncasing my gun, 

 and taking deadly aim, I fired. Puss gave an active 

 bound at this unlooked-for attack, and took her leave 

 with far less ceremony than she made her entree. 



I had just reloaded, when my guide appeared with a 

 breathless malediction on my gun. He had seen my 

 friend going down the mountain, but quite beyond re- 

 call, and, when returning to me, had stumbled on the 

 ptarmigan, most conspicuously perched on the top of a 

 rock. He was in the act of taking his marks to know 

 the place again, in the hope of finding me, when my 

 shot abruptly put an end to his schemes. The birds 

 were equally dissatisfied with the sound as their four- 

 footed ally of the crags, and made the same use of their 

 wings that she did of her legs. It was now late, but as 

 the man had some idea of where they might be, I could 

 not resist the temptation of giving them one more trial. 

 We had almost given up hope, when they a third time 

 rose, very wild, fully a hundred yards off, from a knoll 

 of moss where they were at feed. My time was now 

 " up," so I descended the mountain well pleased with 

 my day's sport, notwithstanding the mishap at the end. 



