MARKHOR AND SHARPU SHOOTING 175 



vermilion, no sign of a white hair gives away his 

 carefully guarded secret. One day, alas ! however, 

 a slight mishap to the worthy Kadera confirmed 

 all my suspicions. We were scrambling up a steep 

 mountain-side after game, when suddenly his foot- 

 ing gave way : he slipped, rolled a few feet toward 

 the precipice below, and came firmly and suddenly 

 to rest in the branches of an intervening bush. Quick 

 as a flash his hand went up to his turban, but alas ! 

 it had jerked off in his rapid descent and lay several 

 yards up the slope. One glance at his bare head, 

 white as the snow of the peak above us, doubly ir- 

 idescent in its contrast to the vermilion of his huge 

 beard, was sufficient. I quickly looked the other 

 way and allowed the old man to recover his turban 

 with what equanimity he could, after the double 

 shock to his limbs and his feelings. 



Sidka, my chota, or assistant shikari, on the con- 

 trary, was young, keen as a greyhound, athletic as 

 a young Greek. As this was his apprenticeship in 

 the shikari business, he well knew what a good re- 

 commendation at the end of the trip would mean. 

 Besides taking excellent care of my clothes in camp, 

 washing and mending them, making my bed at 

 night, and keeping the tent in order, he was invalu- 

 able on the march and in stalking, his duty being 

 to carry my extra gun and keep always at my heels. 



