ful and easy to find and stalk had two Australian kangaroo as red deer in a well-stocked Scotch forest, and so, like a fool, passed on. I have learnt better since. If you want to get big heads, leave your camp in the valley, and take an extra coolie or two with a little "tent d'abri," and some food, and sleep on the top of the hill, and be on your ground at daybreak. Animals always feed down hill and watch down hill, and when disturbed run up. Birds always feed up hill and fly down. My shikari knew, of course, that bivouacking out on the tops was the only chance of big heads, but the Kashmiri is an idle, useless, lying vagabond, and loves to keep the sahib dangling about in easy ground round some village, probably his own. Never believe your Kashmiri shikari unless you know him very well, and can trust him. All of which things I had been told myself; but one never listens, and I fear what I now write will not impress the youthful sportsman as I should wish. The result of it all was that in that nullah I got only one small ibex and two red bears, one of which was a beauty, 6 ft. 9 in. as he lay on the ground. Had I had a decent shikari, or known a little more about it, and stopped a little longer, I ought to have done well in that nullah. Another very great mistake is to allow yourself to be tied to time, but H. and I were hurrying for Changchenmo, and had agreed not to dally on the road. I was pleased to get the bears, as I hounds and a fox terrier with me, and proposed to give them a good meal. My bearer, Nursoo, threw up his hands when I told him, and said, "Bear not good for dogs, master." "Why?" I asked. "Oh! him very hot meat, master." I asked him what he meant, and with a grin he said, "Very bad for dogs, master, him eat funeral meats!" However, the dogs seemed to enjoy, and were none the worse for, their "funeral meats.' We hurried on to Dras, a very small place, consisting of some wretched wooden and mud houses, and a few Ladakis. There I saw some real English magpies, the first I had seen for years. Over a desolate country we hurried on, till we got to the Fotu-la, and stopped a day to try and get some of the lesser sheep (oorial), of which there are plenty, but they were very shy, and it was almost impossible stalking ground,-huge, rolling, bare, arid hills. So we did not tarry, but passed on to Llamayuru, a large Thibetan village with & Llamaserai. This was a most interesting place, and our first introduction to the Buddhist temples of Thibet. They have been so often described that I will say nothing about them. We were most hospitably received by the Llamas, who performed a service in their temple for us, and showed us and told us all they were allowed to, gave us all that they had and that we might want, and wished us good-luck on our departure in the morning. At last we reached Leh, the capital of Ladak, a very important town in that out-of-theway country, and the rendezvous of traders with their varied produce from far-away Russia, China, India, and other places. Here we parted with our Kashmiris, picked up the Tartar shikaris with their yaks, who had come to meet us, replenished our kiltas (baskets), bought twenty-five sheep and fifteen goats, as we were soon to be beyond the haunts of man, and started off with our goal in view and no one before us. Mr Johnson, the Resident, kindly lent us a Tartar guide. We saw a few napoo (blue sheep) just before reaching Lukung, but did not stop, and turning north-east, short of the Pangong Lake, tackled our last pass, the Marsemik-la, 18,700 feet high. There was but little snow on its northern slope, and we camped about a mile or two below the summit. The next morning Hillyard was C.D., but I went out and found some Oves ammon in a small circular valley some 500 feet below us. It was quite impossible to get at them, and I lay watching them for an hour or two through my glasses, and could see their every move. There was one magnificent old ram, with mighty horns, and some females and young, and they let me into some of the secrets of their family life. The old gentleman took a great interest in his family, and after lying some time poked up a young ram, about half grown, and took him about fifty yards from the flock, and taught him how to fight. The little fellow did not appear to want much teaching, for directly the patriarch stood on his hind legs, he did the same, and as he dropped on to all fours again, the little chap charged with real determination, and I could hear his little horns rattle against his sire's massive massive forehead. After a little of this the old gentleman took him to a small rock, and lay down, while the little fellow, getting his proper distance from it, stood up on his hind legs, and then dropped and charged into it, as hard as he could, in the most approved fashion. It really was most interesting, and I quite disliked the idea of disturbing the family party, but I wanted that old gentleman's head badly, though I did not get it. Finding it impossible to get near them, and having a long way to go back before dark, I tried a long shot, and getting my old Tartar to hang on to my legs to prevent me falling over the cliff, I drew a bead and went just over his back. It was a beastly shot. They were about 500 feet almost directly below me -a horrid angle. I never saw as good a ram again, in fact I saw very few altogether, and I was bitterly disappointed, and cursed myself as a duffer. H. was feeling the altitude and cold, and there certainly was a bitter wind driving up that pass, so we said good-bye to our only companions, three old ravens who had followed us for four or five days, and used to sit and croak on the stones of about 15,000 feet (the height of Mont Blanc). Fortunately a kind of tamarisk called oomboo, which is very dry and inflammable, grows on the sandhills, or we should have been in a parlous state for fuel. At last we had reached our goal, and H. and the servants began to breathe again, and I looked forward to some grand sport. But you never know your luck, or the want of it, and it is not everyone who can stand the Thibetan climate. It is a light dry air, and I found it most exhilarating; but it has its drawbacks, and affects the breathing. Added to this, the sun has a power in that atmosphere that I have felt nowhere else, and the merciless wind that hardly ever ceases blowing over those bare steppes, except for a few hours in the morning and not always even then, cracks the sun-scorched skin on your face and lips, till to speak or laugh is torture, and to wash almost impossible, and day after day the skin peels off your face and hands. And this, despite a free use of grease, your face in a linen mask, and your hands gloved. But still, though this all sounds bad, it is a grand life, which compensates for all these inconveniences. close to camp, to see what they could pick up. Theirs was the only sound in that solitude, and the Marsemik-la was too much even for them, and they gave it and us best, without reaching the summit. We had rather a business getting to our next halt, as we found three or four miles of heavy snow on the top, through which the yaks managed to plough, but we had to carry all our sheep and goats; and when we got to the other side, the snow came on, so after dropping some 1500 feet, finding a small level platform, we scraped away the snow as best we could, and pitched our little tents. The Tartars were all right, but the men I had brought from the plains were in a sorry plight, poor fellows. We had seven. Five of them lay down in their blankets, and said they would never see Hindustan again, and preferred to die rather than move. I managed to boil a little hot water, and grudgingly-for I could ill spare it-mixed a little rum with it, called it dawai (medicine), and got six of them to drink it. But the other smelt it, and did not pretend to be deceived, said it was shrab (wine), and he would sooner die than break his caste. Though he was foolish, one could hardly withhold admiration for his faith. The snow cleared before morning, and we dropped down to what is called the valley of Changchenmo, and encamped by the river. It is a mountainous sort of valley, at a level On our way down from the top of the pass we found quite a fair number of blue hares, very like the Scotch ones, and shot a few, -a very welcome addition to the larder. It was curious to see the kangaroo hounds, who appeared quite as much affected by the altitude as ourselves, and utterly unable to compete with the hares. They simply stopped deadblown, and looked at them directly they began to rise an ascent. We moved up the valley next day, and found our first (five) snow antelope, close to the sulphur springs of Keum. Here again we made a mistake in trying to stalk them together, as after crawling over very open and slightly undulating ground we got within about 150 yards, and they, though they could not see us, or I think wind us, began to get uneasy. H., whom I asked to take first shot, was a very long time, and I whispered, "You must shoot, or they'll be off." At last he fired, and missed; so did I, but jumping on my feet, I broke the hind leg of a nice young buck as they galloped off. I went on, and eventually got him. H. was very much annoyed, saying I had hurried him and spoilt his shot. It is fatal for two men ever to attempt to stalk in company. The next day we did not break camp, but looked over the ground in opposite directions, and I decided to go up the Kugrang Nullah for a couple of days, and then meet H. in the valley and decide on our movements, as I was anxious to go up the Kyobrung river for yak. I saw a few antelope, but was unable to get near them, and also plenty of kiang, the wild horses of Thibet, which have a keen eye and scent, and are real spoil-sports to stalking in that country. I then rejoined H., who seemed to feel the effects of the climate, but agreed to go to the Chinese border, to which we were close. We could not find any yak, and when we got to the boundary ridge were met the next morning by a wild-looking armed party on ponies who warned us we could go no farther. They said they did not wish us any harm, but we should get no sport, as there was little to shoot, and what little there was they would frighten away. They told us there was a village some thirty miles off, down in a valley below, whose business it was constantly to patrol the pass and see that no one crossed, that the Chinese authorities always found out if any one did, and that, perhaps six or twelve months afterwards, some of their soldiers would appear and, without asking any questions, decapitate the head-man. There was nothing more to be said, so we gave them a little tobacco and parted friends. H. went back to the Changchenmo valley and I made a detour, promising to be back in three or four days. I found a herd of seven antelope in a valley, where I could not stalk them, so concealed myself in the rocks at the head of it and sent a man round to show himself at the entrance, and they started straight up towards me in the pass. Whether they got my wind or not I don't know, but I heard them suddenly stop when within about 150 yards of the top, and peeping over I saw them turn to the left, leaping from boulder to boulder with great agility. It was an awkward place, as I could and tents, and were some way ahead of us down the hill, when we saw them suddenly begin galloping and the two men in charge running and shouting. Looking through my glasses, I saw a big animal chasing them, get alongside, dash into the flock, and apparently, a second or two after, frightened by the men, dash away again. It was a big Thibetan black wolf, and, though the sheep are very small, in that second he had torn the throat clean away and a huge piece out of the hind-quarter of one of them. I had a very long shot at him as he kept hanging about on our flank, but without effect. He was the only one I saw, and I should have liked to have got him: he must have been a powerful brute, with terrible jaws. After reaching Lukung we turned east for Shushul, a large Tartar village, about eight miles south of the Pangong Tso (lake), along the shores of which we marched for three days. The lake lies at an elevation of 14,000 feet, is about eighty miles in length and five to six in width, and of this you can see a stretch of about thirty miles. From its shores of pale yellow sand rise barren heights, streaked and capped with snow, and behind them, away in the distance, the eternal snows rise in mighty peaks into the clear blue of the heavens. The waters of the lake are a deep sapphire blue, and the rocks and glaciers, in huge fantastic-shaped bluffs and promontories, running ab |