A Vanishing Sport 113 



intimates had accompanied us to the butt; but 

 in glancing at the array of modern rifles with 

 which they were armed, and at the rocks opposite 

 where the beasts were to be shot down, I half 

 regretted coming to what seemed likely to end 

 in a butchery, for the combination of ancient 

 strategy with modern arms seemed a trifle unfair 

 to our quarry. 



The Mehtar was beguiling the time by telling 

 me of some wonderful battues at this spot, in the 

 time of his ill-fated predecessor, when faint, con- 

 fused sounds of shouting came from high up the 

 opposite mountain, mingled with the yelping of 

 dogs. Presently some black dots appeared 

 moving far away in the snow ; then a man 

 perched up on a rock behind us said, "Big 

 markhor coming this way," and we saw a beast 

 come bounding down alone, pausing after each 

 spring to see where the danger lay, and heading 

 straight for the rock face opposite. The men 

 in the butt all seized their rifles and crouched 

 close to the wall. I declined the Mehtar's press- 

 ing invitation to take the shot, so he got ready. 

 The markhor was now within two hundred yards 

 of us, and I was watching him through the 

 glasses. A kingly fellow he looked, with his head 

 thrown back, his great black spiral horns standing 

 grandly out, and his long beard sweeping the 



