“But,” said A. Z., “you must confess that people always think more of a chamois-hunt than of any other. You would rather, I am sure, shoot a chamois than a deer.”
“That is true, but there is no use in making more of it than is necessary. Mr. Hamilton, with his present ideas, will be greatly disappointed, I fear.”
“No, for I was just going to tell him that I have been on mountains where the chamois have been seen springing from rock to rock in places to which I could easily have mounted if I had put on a pair of Steigeisen.”
“What is that? What are they?”
“I scarcely know how to describe them; they look like pattens at a distance, and are buckled over the shoes in the same manner, but they are provided with four strong iron spikes, to enable you to plant your feet steadily in the ground, or in the fissures of the rocks.”
“That’s it!” cried Hamilton. “They were also in the description which I read.”
“Do not have too exalted an idea of the danger on that account,” answered A. Z., laughing; “for I have heard that many people who inhabit the mountainous parts of this country use them when they walk on the snow in winter.”
“So, after all,” said Hamilton, “a chamois-hunt is quite a common sort of thing.”
“You are falling into the contrary extreme now,” said Baron Z—; “for, though it is no uncommon thing, strong sinews, good lungs, a quick eye, and a steady hand are always required in order to be successful.”
They arrived at Ruhpolding, and found their guides waiting for them—tall, strong-looking men, with sunburnt faces and bushy mustaches. Their dress was of coarser materials, but in other respects quite resembling Baron Z—’s, excepting that their grey stockings, with a fanciful pattern in green, were short, and left their knees perfectly bare. On their shoulders were slung canvas bags, into which they immediately packed the cloaks, shawls, and provisions of every description.