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A KILLING JOURNEY. 315
well again. In that attenuated air it is not wise to run
or in any way exert yourself. Our heart and lungs are
not adapted for it.
Before us we now had an immense mountain range,
capped with snow, and were tempted to halt in the mouth
of a small glen from which there issued a little brook.
Just at the spot where it debouched from the glen it had
formed a large sheet of ice. The men proceeded to put
up the tents on the near side of this, while over on the far
side of it was a block of stone ; but—what ? Why, the
stone is moving ! Then it cannot be a stone ; it must
be a yak calf. Then I heard cautious, but eager, whis-
pering in the Cossacks’ yurt, and a minute or two after-
wards, Chernoff stole into my tent and whispered excitedly,
" A bear !
" And sure enough there was Bruin marching
quite calmly straight towards the -camp, perfectly in-
different to the fact of our presence. The dogs were
hurriedly caught and led behind the hill, so as not to spoil
sport. I watched the clumsy movements of the lonely
hermit through the telescope as he walked with his toes
turned in. The Cossacks were lying in wait for him with
their rifles at full cock, and their cheeks burning with ex-
citement. Bruin, however, must have been both blind and
deaf, for he was marching deliberately to his doom. Upon
reaching the further edge of the ice, he stopped a moment
to consider, and then stepped upon it, keeping his muzzle
the whole time close to the ground, as though he were
searching for a pool of fresh water. He appeared to be
tired, for his gait was slow, and every now and then he
would stop and gaze up the glen. At length the shaggy
wanderer dipped down into a hollow in the ice, and as
it was some time before he reappeared the Cossacks began
to lose patience. I advised them to seize the opportunity
to creep forward to the edge of the hollow, for I wanted to
take the skeleton of a bear home with me. But Bruin
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