We realized from the first day’s work that Hui-yao would prove to be a wonderful hunting ground, and the two weeks we spent there justified all our hopes.  At other places the cover was so dense or the country so rough that it was necessary to depend entirely upon dogs and untrained natives, but here the animals were on open hillsides where they could be still hunted with success.  Moreover, we had an opportunity to learn something about the habits of the animals for we could watch them with glasses from the opposite side of the river when they were quite unconscious of our presence.

There was only one day of our stay at Hui-yao that we did not bring in one or more gorals and even after we had obtained an unrivaled series, dozens were left.  Shooting the animals from across the river was rather an unsportsmanlike way of hunting but it was a very effective method of collecting the particular specimens we needed for the Museum series.  The distance was so great that the gorals were unable to tell from where the bullets were coming and almost any number of shots might be had before the animals made for cover.  It became simply a case of long range target shooting at seldom less than three hundred yards.

Still hunting on the cliffs was quite a different matter, however, and was as good sport as I have ever had.  The rocks and open meadow slopes were so precipitous that there was very real danger every moment, for one misstep would send a man rolling hundreds of feet to the bottom where he would inevitably be killed.

The gorals soon learned to lie motionless along the sheerest cliffs or to hide in the rank grass, and it took close work to find them.  I used most frequently to ride from camp to the river, send back the horse by a mafu, and work along the face of the rock wall with my two native boys.  Their eyesight was wonderful and they often discovered gorals lying among the rocks when I had missed them entirely with my powerful prism binoculars.  Their eyes had never been dimmed by study and I suppose were as keen as those of primitive man who possibly hunted gorals or their relatives thousands of years ago over these same hills.

There were many glorious hunts and it would be wearisome were I to describe them all, but one afternoon stands out in my memory above the others.  It was a brilliant day, and about four o’clock I rode away from camp, across the rice fields and up the grassy valley to the long sweep of open meadow on the rim of the river gorge.

Sending back the horse, “Achi,” my native hunter, and I crawled carefully to a jutting point of rocks and lay face down to inspect the cliffs above and to the left.  With my glasses I scanned every inch of the gray wall, but could not discover a sign of life.  Glancing at Achi I saw him gazing intently at the rock which I had just examined, and in a moment he whispered excitedly “gnai-yang.”  By putting both hands to the side of his head he indicated that the animal was lying down, and although he pointed with my rifle, it was full five minutes before I could discover the goral flat upon his belly against the cliff, with head stretched out, and fore legs doubled beneath his body.  He was sound asleep in the sun and looked as though he might remain forever.