erbrush. He had been feeding in the bottom of the
ravine and saw my head instantly as it appeared above the sky line.
There was no chance to shoot because of the heavy cover; and even
when he paused for a moment on the opposite hillside a screen of
tree branches was in my way.

Absolutely disgusted with myself, I followed the animal's trail
until it was lost in the heavy forest. The wapiti was gone for good,
but on the way back to camp I picked up a roebuck which acted as
some balm to my injured feelings.

I had climbed to the crest of the mountains enclosing the valley in
which we were camped, and was working slowly down the rim of a deep
ravine. In my soft leather moccasins I could walk over the springy
moss without a sound, and suddenly saw a yellow-red form moving
about in a luxurious growth of grass and tinted leaves. My heart
missed a beat, for I thought it was a wapiti.

Instantly I dropped behind a bush and, as the animal moved into the
open, I saw it was an enormous roebuck bearing a splendid pair of
antlers. I watched him for a moment, then aimed low behind the
foreleg and fired. The deer bounded into the air and rolled to the
bottom of the ravine, kicking feebly; my bullet had burst the heart.
It was one of the few times I have ever seen an animal instantly
killed with a heart shot for usually they run a few yards, and then
suddenly collapse.

The buck was almost as large as the first one I had killed with
Tserin Dorchy but it had a twisted right antler. Evidently it had
been injured during the animal's youth and had continued to grow at
right angles to the head, instead of straight up in the normal way.

When I reached camp I found Yvette busily picking currants in the
bushes beside the stream. Her face and hands were covered with red
stains and she looked like a very naughty little boy who had run
away from school for a day in the woods. Although blueberries grew
on every hillside, we never found strawberries, such as the Russians
in Urga gather on the Bogdo-ol, and only one patch of raspberries on
a burned-off mountain slope. But the currants were delicious when
smothered in sugar.

Yvette and I rode out to the spot where I had killed the roebuck to
bring it in on Kublai Khan and before we returned the Mongol hunters
had reached camp; neither of them had seen game of any kind. During
the day we discovered some huge trout in the stream almost at our
door. We had no hooks or lines, but the Mongols de