THE GUN AT HOME AND ABROAD 
On September 29 Mr Pick and I left for the other base at Zelonica. Our 
route was by train to Neidworna, where we had to take the small wood 
railway up to Zeilona. I had been here in the previous year and was much 
surprised when we reached Neidworna to find ourselves ushered into a 
carriage by the Oberjager and our baggage placed in one of the country 
carts, because the engine and carriage of the branch line was standing 
only a few yards down the platform. But after a little one ceases to be sur- 
prised at anything in Galicia. It is an eastern land, inhabited by eastern 
people, and it did not take us long to discover that the dirty Jew drivers 
had bribed the engine driver to take his little train 300 yards up the track 
where it cross-cut a main road, circumventing the entire town and village 
of Neidworna. Along this road our Jehu drove slowly for about an hour, 
eventually landing us within a short distance of the spot from which we 
had started. We had then to wait another half-hour for our baggage to 
arrive. 
Of course Pick and I roared with laughter when we found out how the 
Jews had achieved their fares by this clever trick. It was a stroke of genius 
worthy of a Neapolitan hackman. 
At Zelonica we found the whole party of hunters assembled, some of 
whom had already achieved success. Prince Karl Furstenberg had shot 
two nice stags and a good-sized bear, which had come to devour one of 
the fallen; whilst Count Scheibler had obtained two excellent heads, one a 
noble fifteen-pointer on the same ground (Krepeluf), and we all rejoiced 
at their good fortune. Prince Lowenstein, on another beat, had been most 
unlucky, having wounded and lost a splendid eighteen-pointer. 
On September 30 I left on horseback for the highest and roughest ground 
on the whole forest. Travelling up hill for three hours through the most 
beautiful forests of beech, birch and spruce, I had at last to abandon my 
horse and literally climb, dragging the panting steed after me. I like those 
kind of places, and was in highest spirits when at last we reached the little 
hut on Satki in the great forest of Medvedjik (the home of the bear), for 
were not three stags calling loudly and the day still young ? 
Pietro, my new hunter, was a splendid man of noble physique. He had the 
face and expression of an Oberammergau Christ, with a wealth of curly 
red hair. Although he only spoke Ruthenian I could understand nearly 
every word he said, and I found him a pleasant companion during the 
few days we were together. He was the only Galician hunter who insisted 
in valeting me himself, whether I liked it or not. After he had removed 
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