Issue link: http://www.e-digitaleditions.com/i/641958
S P O R T I N G C L A S S I C S 9 5 "That was a very good shot," grinned Hooshang. "We are all very proud of you." The old man smiled, the boy continued whooping with unrestrained delight, and the warden, cigarette holder at a jaunty angle, ordered the horse guys to lead their animal closer and load the ram onto it. After more smiles and laughter, and what I took to be praise of my great marksmanship, the old man suddenly became serious and produced a slender-bladed knife, which he offered to Hooshang with a somewhat beseeching expression on his face. At first I failed to understand, and then Hooshang explained that the man wanted to perform a zibah, the ceremonial Muslim practice of rendering the meat edible. "He knows to be very careful and not ruin the cape," Hooshang noted. I t had been a long, cold day of difficult hiking and climbing. We'd made a great stalk and I'd muffed the shot. Now we were bone-tired and too dejected to talk, except for a brief conference between Hooshang as to the best route to follow back to the village. One being the direction from where we had come, which I vetoed immediately as I had no intention of twice tempting fate on that heart-stopping ledge. The other being to take a longer but safer path. So in addition to muffing what should have been a certain kill, I was making matters worse by insisting we take a longer and more tiring route to the village that would get us there hours after dark. When the tea was finished and the pots were gathered up, we trooped down the mountain single file in the direction the escaping ibex had taken. Then, just as the game warden dropped over the brow of the slope, he let out a shout and started galloping down the mountainside, followed an instant later by Hooshang and the others. At first I couldn't understand and then I heard their laughing and cheering. "Come see, come see," Hooshang was yelling and waving his arms. "Come see." When I caught up with them, the cluster of men parted so I could see the cause of their jubilation. The big ram was lying on his side with a bullet hole almost exactly where I had called the shot. pressed the trigger, and I was so certain that the shot had been a good one that I carelessly took my time working the bolt and looking back down at the animal. "Shoot again, shoot again, they're running," yelled Hooshang. Had I missed? I couldn't believe it. The shot had been a dead setup. Bewildered and now thoroughly rattled, I slammed the bolt home and swung the crosshairs ahead of a running form I hoped to be the same ram and was pressing the trigger just as they disappeared over the crest of the slope. "Too bad, they are all gone," said Hooshang. "That first shot looked good," I protested, "are you sure it wasn't a hit?" "No, he ran away very fast, you did not hit. It is getting late now. We will eat and start back to the village. Tomorrow we will try again." The old man, the boy, and the two horse handlers, who had been waiting on the other side of the hill, had heard the shooting and now came running up, eager to view my trophy. In a few words Hooshang explained what had happened and then ordered them to start a fire and make some tea. Nothing more was said. Continued on page 148