In the last century these woods were tenanted by wild aurochs and the ibex, but both are extinct now in Hungary.  Red-deer and the roe are still common enough.  “The wild-cat, fox, badger, otter, marten, and other smaller carnivora are pretty numerous.”  Mr Danford[11] goes on to say that “feathered game is certainly not abundant.  There are a good many capercailzie in the quiet pine-woods, pretty high up, but they are only to be got at during the pairing season.  Hazel-grouse too are common in the lower woods, but are not easily found unless the call-system be adopted.  Black game are scarcely worth mentioning as far as sport is concerned.  Partridges scarce, not preserved, and the hooded crows and birds of prey making life rather hard for them.”  Mr Danford further speaks of the chamois-eagle as “not rare in the higher mountains.”  The fisher-eagle “generally distributed.”  The king-eagle also “not rare.”  The carrion-vulture “common throughout the country,” also the red-footed falcon.  At one time and another I have myself seen most of these birds in the Carpathians, which form the frontier between Transylvania and Roumania.

Meanwhile I must resume the description of our march, which was a very slow affair.  As we ascended, the trees decreased in size.  We had long ago left the deciduous foliage behind us; but the pines themselves were smaller, interspersed with what is called “crooked timber,” which grows in grotesque dwarf-like forms.  The forest at last diminished into mere sparse shrubs, and finally we reached the treeless region, called in German the Alpen, where there is rich pasturage for cattle and sheep during the summer.  We were now on tolerably level ground, and I thought we should get a trot out of our wretched horses, but no, not a step faster would they go.  I believe we went at the rate of about two miles and a half an hour.  We tried everything—­I mean F——­and I—­to get the animals to stretch out over the turf; but they set to kicking vigorously, backing and rearing, so that to avoid giving annoyance to our companions, we were obliged to give in, and let the brutes go their own pace.

We had gone but a very little way on the Alpen before we found ourselves enveloped in a thick mist, added to which the track itself became uncertain.  We went on:  if the saying “slow but sure” has any truth in it, we ought to have been sure enough.  My horse reminded me of the reply of the Somersetshire farmer, who, when he was asked if his horse was steady, answered, “He be so steady that if he were a bit steadier he would not go at all.”  Notwithstanding that we moved like hay-stacks, and the cavalcade seemed to be treading on one another’s heels, yet, ridiculous to say, we got separated from our baggage.  Darkness set in, and with it a cold drizzling rain—­not an animated storm that braces your nerves, but a quiet soaking rain, the sort of thing that takes the starch out of one’s moral nature.

All at once I was aroused from my apathy by a shout from the front calling out to the cavalcade to halt.  I must observe a fellow on foot was leading the way in quality of guide.  A pretty sort of a guide he turned out to be.  He had led us quite wrong, and in fact found all of a sudden that he was on the verge of a precipice!