172 THE GREAT THIBETAN SHEEP, OR NYAN. 



How often have I awoke with the knowledge that it was time for me to leave my warm 

 bed and face the frosty air, the temperature of which could be guessed by a glance at the 

 solid brown block which represented the half drunk cup of tea left by my bedside the night 

 before. How distasteful has been the prospect of a couple of miles climb over loose shingle 

 to the summit of a steep hill, which I must gain before it has been illuminated (not warmed) 

 by the first rays of the rising sun, if I would not lose the most advantageous hour for seeing 

 what game is in the neighbourhood. 



How often have I again rolled myself in my blankets and wondered how I could be 

 such a fool as to leave the comforts of a hill station where I might lie in bed till 10 o'clock 

 if I chose — and for what ? To walk hundreds of miles over hill and dale; to feed upon 

 leathery 'chufiatties' and tough sheep (not worthy of the name of mutton) ; and to undergo 

 a hundred discomforts for the chance of a shot at a big sheep ! 



" No," — I have said to myself — " shooting is all vanity ; why should life be wasted in 

 such idle pursuits ? Cultivate a taste for scenery ; take to sketching, botany, geology — 

 anything that can be carried on without the necessity for getting up in the middle of the 

 night with shivering limbs and chattering teeth. Call this pleasure, indeed ! A convict has 

 no such miseries to undergo. No more shooting for me ! What do I want with the Nyan ? 

 Leave the poor brutes alone ! " But then comes the thought — " What a splendid ram that was 

 which I saw yesterday ! If he had only left the open plain and gone to those nullahs in 

 the direction of which he was feeding when failing daylight obliged me to give up the chase, 

 I should have probably got a shot. He is sure to be there to-day. If I could but get 

 within a hundred yards of him ! — such horns ! must be fifty inches ! " 



Away with all ignoble thoughts of creature comforts and inglorious ease ! The blankets 

 are thrown off; the cup of tea is called for ; the gun-carriers are summoned ; and in another 

 quarter of an hour we are plodding up the stony slopes, still cold certainly, but with the blood 

 beginning to circulate more quickly ; and with our hearts full of hope. 



Although I had several times seen these sheep during my first two seasons in the 

 hills, I never had a good chance at old rams until 1864. On the 23rd of June of that year 

 I was encamped near Chiishul in Ladak, on the range of hills separating the Pangong Lakes 

 from the Indus Valley. 



The hills here were very steep and barren, being composed chiefly of loose shale, and 

 they were, moreover, very high. I had not walked more than a quarter of a mile from my 

 tent, and the sun was just rising, when I discovered three animals far up the hill above 

 my camp. The Tartars pronounced them to be Kyang ; I said ' Nyan,' and on having 

 recourse to the telescope, I saw that they were fine old rams. As I was observing them, 

 they lay down, and in such a position, that I saw that, if they would only remain where they 

 were, I should be able to stalk them. A narrow ravine ran straight down the hill from near 

 where the animals were lying ; ascending this I had a hard climb till I had nearly reached 

 their level, when, on turning to the right, I found that a dip in the ground 

 concealed my movements until I arrived at the spot from which I expected to get a shot. 

 Crawling up the last bit of slope, I carefully looked over and beheld the Nyan lying down 



