The result of the day would be very different were the breeze even at this late hour to chop round, for no power on earth can drive chamois into the teeth of a danger-tainted breeze; but this fortunately does not occur, and we can watch the drive from our point of vantage, and follow the details of it at leisure. On two small snow-fields lying well under the cliffs we can see small black specks. Closer examination with the glasses discloses two bands of chamois each some twenty in number; some are lying on the snow, others, mostly kids, are frisking about, the whole lot, till they hear the signal shot, being quite ignorant of the impending ordeal. Very rapidly does the scene change when the first alarm strikes their ears. The frisky kids, which a second before were playing about, now press against their respective mothers’ sides, while the older animals have jumped to their feet with amazing rapidity. Misled by the echo as to the direction whence the sound really came, they dart hither and thither, unable to make up their minds whither to flee. The next minute the bands separate into several groups, each under the leadership of a doe, who select different routes, each of which, however, will in the end probably bring them to the guns, though some sooner than others. The plan of the drive depends greatly upon the lay of the ground. In many cases the line of beaters, from twenty to fifty in number, is drawn from the bottom to the top of the mountain, and then at a given signal the whole line works along its flank. The crest of the ridge is flagged off and so is the bottom, if it is at all likely that the chamois will attempt to break through in that direction. The fourth side is occupied by the guns, and if there are not enough to stop the gaps and passes, short lengths of flags are strung between them, or keepers are posted who, when chamois approach, show themselves and cause the game to turn back into the drive, and try for some other place of escape till they finally come to one of the guns. In other drives the two side lines of flags are curved inwards till the extremities almost meet, and that is usually the best post; for chamois on getting to the ‘lappen’ turn one way or another, dashing along the flag-line till they reach an opening. In other places, again, where the mountains are very steep, and a large area has only three or four possible outlets by which the game can get away, flags are almost unnecessary, for the beasts must come by the passes, or ‘chimneys,’ or ledges, which of course should all be well known to the keepers, who make the configuration of the ground their special study. But only too often the amazing climbing powers of the chamois will at the last moment upset all the well-matured plans, and the hard-pressed animals effect their escape by some hitherto unknown ledge, or by a series of leaps down perpendicular heights that make the onlooker hold his breath with astonishment. Speaking of the wonderful climbing feats, space may be given to one or two actual measurements. Tschuddi’s eminently trustworthy figures are the following: a chasm on the Monte Rosa jumped by a chamois measured 21 feet, while a perpendicular wall, 14 feet high,[10] was jumped by a semi-tame chamois frightened by a dog; and the writer has measured a vertical depth of 24 feet, down which a wounded buck cornered by a bloodhound unhesitatingly ventured to leap without injury to himself. When in their flight suddenly coming upon the flag-line chamois will not always turn to one side or leap clean over it, but will sometimes boldly charge the bunting, and if the cord is not too old and stands the strain, the result is a chamois violently flung on its back. In a few instances they have been known to get entangled in the cord and strangled to death.