The Father of all Sheep 221 



cartridges, that very ugly man proceeded to dance. 

 One hand brandished the rifle above his head, the 

 other was placed gracefully on his hip, and he 

 hopped slowly round the dead ram. He tried to 

 sing, but words would not come, and he could only 

 give vent to hoarse shouts : " Abdus amarn, 

 Abdus amarn." 



The ammon was a magnificent specimen, and 

 I felt like joining in the dance. The hour, how- 

 ever, was late, so I set the shikari to work on the 

 obsequies. 



We started for camp about four in the afternoon. 

 The way was interminably long, but I had only 

 to look at the ram's head, bobbing along in the 

 dark on the guide's saddle, for such feelings to 

 vanish. The latter's sense of direction was un- 

 erring, as is usual among children of the desert, 

 and he took us a bee-line to camp, but it was 

 not till the moon was high in the sky that we 

 saw welcome twinkling lights at the bottom of the 

 long, straight valley we had ascended that morn- 

 ing. And in another hour we had forgotten the 

 silence and solitude of the desert in the light 

 and warmth of camp. By that time there were 

 cravings of the inner man that had to be satisfied 

 without delay. 



It is an unfortunate fact that in Ladak, in spite 

 of the game laws passed by the Kashmir " darbar," 



