A DILETTANTE IN THE CAUCASUS. 213 



mainly in the form of the horns, which sometimes are very 

 massive. I have seen some very fine heads in Tiflis. It is the 

 first mentioned species which occurs in the neighbourhood of 

 Kazbek. A keen native sportsman, Levan by name, undertook 

 to show me some Tur in their native haunts. Accordingly we 

 started pretty early in the morning, well laden against all 

 contingencies. We walked some five versts down the valley, and 

 then sat by the path and scanned the rocks above with a 

 telescope by the hour. At length the practised eye of my 

 companion detected a minute reddish speck in the shadow of a 

 projecting rock, almost at the summit of the mountain called 

 Nakherete. My eyes are pretty good, but I had to take Levan's 

 word for it. The Tur rest all day, sleeping or dozing on 

 inaccessible crags. Towards the evening they come down to 

 lower altitudes to graze, returning at dawn to their rocky 

 fastnesses. We accordingly set out to climb to meet them, with 

 the idea of ambushing them on the descent. The climb was 

 laborious, but glorious, up the face of the cliff ; the foothold was 

 precarious ; a dense carpet of aromatic herbs made the air 

 fragrant as our boots crushed them. The purity of the air and 

 ihe wonderful scenery were ample reward for the great fatigue 

 of the climb, which was particularly trying in the rarefied air 

 after six months of soft town-life, especially with a rifle, bandolier, 

 field-glasses, and knapsack. At length, about four in the 

 afternoon, we lay caches behind a minor ridge, and between the 

 chinks of the rock my eyes were gladdened by the sight of a 

 flock of seven Tur slowly working their way downwards. The 

 chief was a ram of about three years, with very fair horns ; there 

 were two a little younger, and the rest were kids. They stopped 

 to snatch a bite of sweet grass here and there, and all rested a 

 few minutes to drink from a rivulet trickling from a patch of 

 melting snow. The kids were frisking and gambolling as 

 prettily as lambs, and I could scarcely bring myself to break 

 upon their peace by pulling the trigger of the old rifle that 

 Levan had lent me. But when they had approached to about 

 four hundred paces, I aimed at the oldest ram and pulled. The 

 report re-echoed through the rocks and crags around, and down 

 the gorge, while the startled animals bolted in all directions. 

 The bullet grazed the shoulder of the ram, but he paid no 



