Sierra de Grédos 221 
—almost, but not quite; for one bullet had taken effect, and the 
rocks beyond the little “pass” were sprinkled with blood The 
late hour, 4 p.m., and the long scramble campwards forbade our 
following the spoor that night, but the ram was recovered some 
two miles beyond the point where we had last seen him—horn 
measurements 24% inches, by 84 inches basal circumference. 
The beaters reported having seen several ibex during this 
drive, two small rams, females, and kids—thirteen in all. We 
devoted a couple more days to this section of the sierra, but 
both proved unsuccessful so far as regards the one grand ibex- 
ram which we had seen. Here, on the Riscos del Fraile, and 
later on at Villarejo, we each spared small beasts; but at last 
were fain to be content with a three-year-old goat, whose head 
adorns our walls. 
Before daylight we were aroused by the breaking-up of 
camp, and by seven o’clock had taken a downward course from 
that lofty eyrie which we had occupied for ten days. It was 
a lovely ride with bright sunlight lighting up every detail of 
the mountain scenery, while every mile brought evidence of the 
lowering altitude—first, in green herbage, then in brushwood and 
stunted trees, till at mid-day we reached the region of pines in 
the cool valley of the river Tormes. Here we halted, and while 
lunch was being prepared, enjoyed a swim in those crystal 
torrents. That afternoon was devoted to trout, but with meagre 
results. The stream gleamed like polished steel, everything that 
moved in the waters could be seen, and doubtless its denizens 
enjoyed a similar advantage as regards things in the other 
element. At any rate, none save the smaller trout would look 
at a fly; so we continued our journey, following the river-side in 
the direction of the mountains of Villarejo. 
Dionysio and Caraballo had gone to a hamlet lower down for 
bread and wine. There was no bread, and having to wait till it was 
baked, delayed the march. Meanwhile, we wandered on through 
pine-woods with the beautiful stream fretting and foaming, and 
collecting a few bird-specimens, though none of much interest. 
We did, however, come across two gigantic nests of the black 
vulture, flat platforms of sticks, each superimposed on the summit 
of a lofty pine. Even in these uplands the black vulture nests 
in March, when the whole land is yet enveloped in snow, and 
while frequent snowstorms sweep down the valleys. So closely 
