27th May. Sunday. At daybreak this morning, when in that state of indecision so often felt at that hour, even by practical early risers like myself, as to turning out forthwith to the raw and frosty air, or indulging in the snug comforts of bed and blankets, Mooktoo intruded his head into my canvas sanctum, and, with sparkling eyes, said there was a bear on the hill side close by. I replied, "It matters not; I am not going after him;" on which he retired. I shortly got up and went out. Sure enough, there was Bruin, as if conscious of security, quietly selecting his herbage on the hill opposite my tent. I could, by walking down to the river's bank—he was on the other side—have got within eighty yards of him, but allowed him the enjoyment of his Sabbath privileges, and saw him, ere long, retire into the jungle.
28th May. Off betimes up the Palgham path, a heavy, steady pull, principally over snow, which at this early hour was firm and afforded tolerable footing, but after being subjected to the heat of the sun becomes soft and treacherous, and very slippery.
We came across the tracks of ibex, with those of dogs in pursuit. Several spots renowned for the former animals were closely reconnoitred, but nothing was stirring.
As we ascended, the snow increased, and the chance of game became less. We paused awhile in an open space among lofty mountains, clad in their white wintry drapery, which here and there receding and opening out, and in other parts cleft into deep and rugged ravines, looked the "beau ideal" of an ibex ground. But still all was lifeless. It was an admirable picture of a winter scene, in all its congealed desolation.
Here we turned, and, retracing our steps some distance, entered another narrow valley, and sending Subhan ahead to observe the condition and prospects of the new route as to snow, he returned, shaking his head and saying there was no open ground in that direction. So nothing remained to be done, but to return to the bivouac.
The snow had by this time become difficult to traverse, lying as the path did on the steep slope of the mountain, at the bottom of which foamed a rapid torrent, and though advancing with cautious and measured steps suddenly my foot slipped, and down I went rapidly, sliding on my side over the smooth surface to the depths below. But a projecting fragment of rock, fallen from above, presented just enough irregularity for me to clutch hold of as I reached it, which luckily I got firm hold of; for Subhan, launching himself after me, came down with such an impetus that, had I not been thus fortified, we should both of us have been inevitably precipitated into the river beneath, which would in all probability have put a finale to my excursion.
We picked ourselves up, and our way on, now with our staves forming steps for my footing. I found the grass sandals here, in the slippery soft snow, worse than ordinary boots, as they gave no hold such as the raised heel does.
The shikarries, of course, though they slipped about, and fell too, found no real difficulty in getting on. I have addressed myself to discovering what can be the cause of such a marked difference, giving them such very superior power of adherence to a smooth, slippery, surface. The reason of this difference is, I believe, in the formation and use of the toes. The feet are remarkably short, and spread out at the toes like half a fan. These mountaineers have never cramped their feet by the use of such distorting leathern bondage, as we torture ourselves with; so that the toes, instead of being strained to a point, are spread out, and every one of them becomes practically a finger, affording clutch and support, which enables the possessors to move with confidence on any inclined surface, however smooth and steep, when, if they slip with one foot, they can easily recover themselves with the other: while we, having rendered our toes useless but as a lever 'en masse,' depend upon the ball of the foot for our hold, which gives, indeed, ample support on smooth level ground, but is quite inadequate for safe progress amid the dangerous paths that ibex hunting leads to. The latter part of our way lay over a snow drift inclining rapidly, down which we sped at a smart pace, digging in our heels, occasionally getting too much way on, and having to make considerable exertions to steer clear of danger. The exercise was exhilarating. Arrived in the village, I was met by Abdoolah, khansamah who, much excited, declared that thirteen animals, which he thought to be 'kustoora,' had just passed along the path on the other side the river, and were now in sight. We were much puzzled at this confident statement, and on bringing the spyglass to bear found the visitors to be a pack of wild dogs.
There the destructive rascals were, some standing, some reclining, looking as though quite at home, and ready for anything. They were a bright light-red, with sharp noses and pricked ears and long bushy tails, almost the size, and somewhat resembling, a middle-sized red Irish setter.