THE GUN AT HOME AND ABROAD 
fairly numerous in these mountains, and Anders, taking the head on his 
back, set out for the hut. We had not gone far, however, when I saw eleven 
more reindeer come into Rankibotn and settle. I thought we should have 
an easy stalk, but they crossed the valley and ascended the main range, 
we following at our best pace. Poor Anders, who was far from well, 
toiled and groaned after me up the stiff ascent, and swore many times he 
would never follow reindeer again and carry a head as well, but all things 
come to an end at last, and we reached the summit, only to see the reindeer 
galloping over the next valley and away beyond into the next range of 
mountains. We followed for two more hours, and then, tired and dispirited, 
returned to camp. 
From the 8th to the 15th we worked continuously, in spite of frequent 
snowstorms, and only once saw another buck. He showed up for a moment 
in the mist, and we followed his tracks for five hours, only to find that he 
had been alarmed and was making for another destination. 
I killed an old yeld doe with a head of fifteen points one day after an easy 
stalk, and that concluded our hunting for the year 1900. Poor Anders returned 
to the Laerdal valley and died the same winter, from cancer of the stomach. 
He was one of the most charming men I have met in my travels and, for a 
Norwegian, an exceptionally good hunter. 
I wanted a couple of good reindeer heads for my collection, and it was 
not until the autumn of 1907 that I had another try. This time I went to the 
Saetersdal- Stavanger country and took the most isolated of the beats 
controlled by Dr Heiberg. That year Fortune conspired to put everything 
the wrong way. First I was on the point of taking Lysheien, but gave it up 
as it meant dogs for ripa shooting and the rental of a large house which I 
did not want, and took Gyhei, at the extreme north-east of the range of 
mountains, as I thought it would be the least likely to be poached. Both 
these conclusions were wrong, for I had not reckoned with the north wind 
and the snow which drove every deer off my ground into the centre at 
Lysheien, where the sport was exceptional. I rejoiced that my good friends, 
P. B. Van der Byl and Fred Selous, had such excellent fun, for they killed 
fourteen fine stags, but it was rather hard that they should have all my 
deer as well as their own, when I had given up the place to them. How- 
ever, such is sport, and I did not grudge them their good luck. 
It took two days to get to the foot of the mountains, where I met my 
hunter, Knud Bratteland and his son. A stout Norwegian pony held the 
outfit, and we ascended through the most magnificent scenery for 3,000 
300 
