But it was not till a week had elapsed that we had the ibex really in our power. Just as day broke a herd of eight--two males and six females--stood not forty yards from our cave-dwelling. The fact was ascertained by one Estéban, a Spanish sportsman whom we had taken with us. Silently he stole back to the cave, and without a word, or disturbing the dreams of his still sleeping employers, picked up an "Express" and went forth. Then the loud double report at our very doors--that is, had there been a door--aroused us, only to find ... the spoor of that enormous ram, the spot where he had halted, listening, above the cave, and the splash of the lead on the rock beyond--_eighteen inches_ too low! an impossible miss for one used to the "Express." Oh, Estéban, Estéban! what were our feelings towards you on that fateful morn! Life in a mountain-cave high above snow-level--six men huddled together, two English and four Spaniards--has its weird and picturesque, but it has also its harder side. Yet those days and nights, passed amidst majestic scenes and strange wild beasts, have left nothing but pleasant memories, nor have their hardships deterred us from repeating the experiment. These initial campaigns were too early in the season (March and April). The only birds seen were choughs and ravens; ring-ouzels lower down. There were plenty of trout, though small, in the hill-burns. On one occasion a circular rainbow across a deep gorge perfectly reflected in the centre our own figures on passing a given point. The ice-going abilities of the mountaineers were marvellous--incredible save to an eye-witness. Across even a north-drift, hard and "slape" as steel and hundreds of yards in extent, these men would steer a sliding, slithering course at top speed, directed towards some single projecting rock. To miss that refuge might mean death; but they did not miss it, ever, in their perilous course, making good a certain amount of forward movement. At that rock they would settle in their minds the next point to be reached, quietly smoking a cigarette meanwhile. How such performances diminish one's self-esteem! How weak are our efforts! Even on the softer southern drifts, what balancing, what scrambling and crawling on hands and knees are necessary, and what a "cropper" one would have come but for the friendly arm of Enrique, who, as he arrests one's perilous slide, merely mutters, "Ave Maria purissima!" * * * * * Now we have left the ice and snow and the ibex to wander in peace over their lonely domains. To-night we have dined at a _table_; there is a cheery fire in the rude _posada_ and merry voices, contrasting with the silence of our cave, where no one spoke above a whisper, and where no fire was permissible save once a day to heat the _olla_. Now all we need is a song from the Murillo-faced little girl who is fanning the charcoal embers. "Sing us a couplet, Dolóres, to welcome us back from the snows of Alpuxarras!"