252 
WILD NORWAY. 
the night was fine, the moon shining through driving 
clouds, and I observed a poacher “ burning the water ” 
far below. This explained the fact of our dogs having 
barked all night, depriving us, tired as we were, of 
a chance of sleep. Two hours later, by which time we 
had climbed out through dark woods to the fell-ridge, 
the weather had changed to mist with heavy vertical 
rain. By 6 a.m. the breeze had utterly died away, and 
the prospect was wretched in the extreme. For the 
essence of our venture lay in this—that on this open 
fjeld, we should be able to see our game at a distance, 
while the elks fed at sunrise. But clear weather was 
obviously a sine qua non , since one cannot see even 
an elk in a fog like pea-soup : nor can the best of dogs 
scent him in a breathless atmosphere. Verily the 
elements seemed to conspire against us, and in des¬ 
peration I gave the word, “ Back to the house! ” To 
me thus Johannes :—“ Wait here one hour ; perhaps 
the weather may change.” The hunter dived beneath 
the spreading crinoline of a spruce, while I sought 
comfort in a nip of grog and a pipe, sitting shivering on 
a log in the pouring rain and dark dawn. 
Siberian jays flopped around within arm’s-length, 
and a caper-cock bustled noisily on to a half-fallen pine 
hard by. He tried to sing, but his vocal organs failed, 
so he descended to breakfast on blaeberries and shoots 
of dwarf-birch. 
Precisely at seven o’clock, a rustling of leaves be¬ 
tokened wind—oh, the joy of it! Johannes was all 
action in a moment, and we pushed forward over the 
fjeld. By eight o’clock it was blowing hard, though 
rain and scud still shut out all view. Then we struck 
