A SUMMER ON THE YENESEI 247 



A pair of long-tailed skuas were flying between the 

 shore and the tundra with suspicious regularity. I 

 followed them for some distance up the dry bed of 

 a watercourse, which harboured such myriads of mos- 

 quitoes that it was only by smearing myself with a 

 lard-and-tar ointment that I could watch the birds at 

 all. About a mile from the balagan I found the object 

 of the skuas' care — a gross and awkward youngster. 

 He looked so ugly, as he sat upon a hillock, squalling to 

 be fed, that I did not much mind shooting him. In 

 this, however, I was foiled by half a dozen of the native 

 dogs, who kept me under respectful but vigilant sur- 

 veillance. Curiously enough, the old skuas objected to 

 the dogs much more than to the human intruder ; but 

 the fledgling was very wide awake, and never allowed 

 me to come within range of him. Eventually I shot 

 the cock bird, and the other two flew aw\ay. Afterwards 

 I went up to the higher lying tundra, but as my canine 

 retainers persisted in following me, and quartered the 

 ground on either side as they went, I bagged nothing 

 but a young rufi" in the ruddy plumage of the year. I 

 returned to the balagan with my attendant pack to 

 find Miss Curtis waiting for me. She said that Simeon 

 Prokopchuk had accompanied her down to the chooms, 

 and while there had received some drink. He had 

 incited the natives to all sorts of antics, and as he was 

 now lying asleep in the balagan, we thought that it 

 would be a good opportunity to make our escape. 



It was a beautiful evening, with just that touch of 

 crispness in the air that in England belongs to the first 

 autumn frost. In its own way the fall of the year is 



