He spoke, however, of other matters in his gentle, thoughtful voice--avoiding always any mention of politics and war--chatted on pleasantly with the familiarity and insouciance of old acquaintance. Once he turned slowly and looked at Brown--addressed him politely--while his dark eyes wandered over the American, noting every detail of dress and equipment, and the slight bulge at his belt line beneath the tunic. Twice he found pretext to pick up his rifle, but discarded it carelessly, apparently not noticing that Stent and Brown always resumed their own weapons when he touched his. Brown said to Von Glahn: "Ibex stalking is a new game to me. My friend Stent tells me that you are old at it." "I have followed some few ibex, Mr. Brown," replied the young man modestly. "And--other game," he added with a shrug. "I know how it’s done in theory," continued the American; "and I am wondering whether we are to lie in this spot until dawn tomorrow or whether we climb higher and lie in the snow up there." "In the snow, perhaps. God knows exactly where we shall lie tonight--Mr. Brown." There was an odd look in Siurd’s soft brown eyes; he turned and spoke to Herr Professor von Dresslin, using dialect--and instantly appearing to recollect himself he asked pardon of Stent and Brown in his very perfect English. "I said to the Herr Professor in the Traun dialect: ’Ibex may be stirring, as it is already late afternoon. We ought now to use our glasses.’ My family," he added apologetically, "come from the Traunwald; I forget and employ the vernacular at times." The Herr Professor unslung his telescope, set his rifle upright on the moss, and, kneeling, balanced the long spyglass alongside of the blued-steel barrel, resting it on his hand as an archer fits the arrow he is drawing on the bowstring. Instantly both Brown and Stent thought of the same thing: the chance that these Germans might spy others of the Athabasca regiment prowling among the ferns and rocks of neighbouring slopes. The game was nearly at an end, anyway. They exchanged a glance; both picked up their rifles; Brown nodded almost imperceptibly. The tragic comedy was approaching its close. "_Hirsch_" grunted the Herr Professor--"_und stück_--on the north alm"--staring through his telescope intently. "Accorded," said Siurd Von Glahn, balancing his spyglass and sweeping the distant crags. "_Stück_ on the western shoulder," he added--"and a stag royal among them." "Of ten?" "Of twelve." After a silence: "Why are they galloping--I wonder--the herd-stag and _stück_?" Brown very quietly laid one hand on Stent’s arm. "A _geier_, perhaps," suggested Siurd, his eye glued to his spyglass. "No ibex?" asked Stent in a voice a little forced. "_Noch nicht, mon ami. Tiens! A gemsbok_--high on the third peak--feeding." "Accorded," grunted the Herr Professor after an interval of search; and he closed his spyglass and placed his rifle on the moss.