172 ACROSS MONGOLIAN PLAINS 



they hunt. Thank God, I do. There would be no fun 

 at all for me if I didn't get excited. But, fortunately, 

 it aU comes after the crucial moment. When the stock 

 of the rifle settles against my cheek and I look across 

 the sights, I am as cold as steel. I can shoot, and keep 

 on shooting, with every brain cell concentrated on the 

 work in hand but when it is done, for better or worse, 

 I get the reaction which makes it all worth while. 



One morning, a week after we had been in camp, 

 Tserin Dorchy and I discovered a cow and a calf wapiti 

 feeding in an open forest. It was a delight to see how 

 the old Mongol stalked the deer, slipping from tree to 

 bush, sometimes on his knees or flat on his face in the 

 soft moss carpet. When we were two hundred yards 

 away we drew up behind a stump. I took the cow, 

 while Tserin Dorchy covered the calf and at the sound 

 of our rifles both animals went down for good. I was 

 glad to have them for specimens because we never got 

 a shot at a bull in Mongolia, although twice I lost one 

 by the merest chance. One of our hunters brought in 

 a three-year-old moose a short time after we got the 

 wapiti and another had a long chase after a wounded 

 bear. 



It was the first week in September when we returned 

 to the base camp, our ponies heavily loaded with sldns 

 and antlers. The Chinese taxidermists under my direc- 

 tion had made a splendid collection of small mammals, 

 and we had pretty thoroughly exhausted the resources 

 of the forests in the Terelche region. Therefore, Yvette 



