and recover breath. He was soaked in
perspiration from head to foot, giddy with sun and unnatural posture,
very sore as to elbows and knees, out of breath, trembling--and
entirely happy. The half-mile crawl, with the greater part of his body
on the burning ground, and the rifle to shuffle steadily along without
noise or damage, was the equivalent of a hard day's work to a strong
man. At the end of it he lay gasping and sick, aching in every limb,
almost blind with glare and over-exertion, weary to death--and
entirely happy. Thank God he would be able to stand up in a moment and
rest behind a big cactus. Then he would have a spell of foot-work for
a change, and, though crouching double, would not be doing any
crawling until he had crossed the plateau and reached the bushes.

The upward climb was successfully accomplished with frequent halts for
breath, behind boulders. On the plateau all that was required was
silence. The ibex could not see him up there. In his rubber-soled
khaki-coloured shoes he could almost run, but it was a question
whether a drink of cold water would not be worth more than all the
ibexes in the world.

He tip-toed rapidly across the level hill-top, reached the belt of low
bushes, dropped, and lay to recover breath before resuming the painful
and laborious crawling part of his journey. Was it possible to tap
one's tongue against one's teeth and hear the noise of it as though it
were made of wood? It seemed so. Was this giddiness and dimness of
vision sunstroke? What would he give to have that fly (that had
followed him for hundreds of thousands of miles that morning) between
his fingers?

Last lap! There was the rock, and below it must be the quarry--if it
had not fled. He must keep that rock between himself and his prey and
he must get to it without a sound. It would be easy enough without the
rifle. Could he stick it through his belt and along his back, or trail
it behind him? What nonsense! He must be getting a touch of sun. Would
these stones leave marks of burns on his clothes? Surely he could
smell himself singeing. Enough to explode the rifle ... The big rock
at last! A rest and then a peep, with infinite precaution. Dam held
his breath and edged his face to the corner of the great boulder.
Moving imperceptibly, he peeped ... _No ibex!_ ... He was about to
spring up with a hearty malediction on his luck when he perceived a
peculiar projection on a large stone some distance down the hill. It