Here we met another of
the race of wandering Englishmen, who was wending his way back to
the valley. He was returning from a shooting tour, was all alone,
and appeared to have had very hard work indeed of it, if his face
and hands and generally dilapidated appearance might taken as a
criterion. Not being quite in such light marching order ourselves,
we were able to ask him to breakfast, and from his ready acceptance
and the entire justice he did to our offer, I don't think he could
have had anything to eat for a week.
He appeared to be a thorough sportsman, and had bagged several head of
large game, which he showed us. They were principally a kind of wild
sheep with enormous heads and horns, each of his trophies being almost
a coolie load in itself. Leaving Shergol, we entered a curious valley
with rocks of concrete standing out like towers and fortifications,
and on the summits of these again, airy-looking habitations with
red streaks adorning them, and entered, as that at Shergol, by holes
in the face of the rock.
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