slowly beats to the ground. My first shot was low to the right, and the antelope only jumped I stared fiercely in my direction. That gave me a better opportunity and throwing in another shell, I fired again. Down went one animal the other flew with the speed of an arrow straight away, I sent a bullet after its white rump patch but the shot was hopeless. The lama made a seat for himself on his pony's haunches behind the pack-sleds with a blanket and threw the antelope across his neck, we trotted back to camp. The sun had set and with the afterglow painting the sky with crimson we troited back to camp into the afterglow of the sun which painted the sky in streaks of crimson and gold. The night air was like a draught of wine after the heat of the day's sun and not to our nostrils [illegible] the fragrance of the new born grass. Our sleep hung was unrefreshing but full of excitement. We started for antelopes on the edge of the plain where I shot one last night but they were hopelessly wild so I did not get a shot. I did make a splendid stalk however, with what I shot was a feeding antelope -- proved to be a marmot, in On this clear air with absolutely nothing to use for comparison, small objects stand out with startling distinctness and seem of huge proportions. Twice afternoons we have