In going up a very steep hill, he would stand up on his hind legs, put his forefeet on some narrow shelf or ledge of rock, and then, with a sharp little bound, draw his body up, and stand with all four feet on a space scarcely big enough for a full-grown man.

Chaffer tried this plan now, and with good effect for a time, but he could smell the man coming nearer and nearer, and began to be terribly frightened.  Timid and nervous to a wonderful degree, and of a cautious, suspicious nature, Chaffer’s excitement grew intense, and his small, pointed ears quivered painfully.  On he went, never stopping to glance round for a single instant, for it was not necessary; he knew only too well what was behind him, and his one object was to get away.

At this moment, however, there was another whistle from the sentinel of the herd, much fainter this time because farther off, but containing the information that there was danger at the top of the mountains as well as at the base.  Chaffer hesitated a moment, but he decided to go on now, whatever came; he was far more at home on these sharp crags and dangerous heights than he was on smooth, even ground, and he could go where it was quite impossible for a man to follow.

So he gave a few more leaps, a few more bounds, although the scent of the man now was so strong as to bewilder him, and then landed on a tiny ledge face to face with a hunter!

It would have been hard to say which was the most surprised—­the hunter or Chaffer.  As a matter of fact, the hunter had been carefully watching another chamois a little lower down—­a young male who had been turned out of the herd with Chaffer—­and had no idea a second chamois was so close to him until Chaffer alighted on the ledge of rock at his very feet.  The two looked at one another for an instant in deathlike silence, their eyes wide open with surprise and fright; for, had the chamois only known it, he could, with one touch of his horns, have sent the hunter whirling through space and onto the rocks beneath, where he would have been dashed to pieces.

Then, with a wild leap, Chaffer sprang—­sprang down the precipitous chasm which yawned beneath them, a distance of nearly thirty feet.  As he went down, with his graceful body hanging in the air, and his handsome head, with its curved horns, thrown back, he turned himself diagonally, striking his feet sharply every now and then against the face of the rock in his descent, and alighted at the foot in perfect safety.

Meanwhile, the hunter, although he was a hardy Swiss mountaineer, was so frightened at his narrow escape that he gave up the chase for that day and went home, followed by the other hunters.  They had been out on this expedition four days already, and had faced great dangers without getting a single chamois.  They were brave and patient men, and as they earned their living by chamois hunting—­one of the most dangerous and precarious ways of earning a living—­had been ready and prepared for a certain amount of risk.  But four days in the mountains, with nothing but dried meat for food, added to the intense cold and exposure, not to speak of risking their lives several times a day, was about as much as any man could stand, so, when Chaffer and his companions got away, the hunters decided to go home and hunt them another time.