THE SPORT OF KINGS. 787 



but not going very fast, and all four houbara stretched out their long 

 necks and went off full speed ahead, and I knew I was in for a gallop. 

 After the last kill, I had handed the peregrine I had to the second 

 falconer, so with the " lure " in ray pocket, in case of accidents, set 

 spurs to my horse and off we went. There was only one houbara in 

 view now, the others having gone off at a tangent, and this one was 

 gaining steadily on the falcon and also rising, a thing they do not 

 often do, but the falcon, though far behind, was considerably higher 

 than the houbara and I was getting badly left, though my horse was 

 croing about 14 annas, when, for some unknown reason, the houbara 

 turned slightly to the right and gave me the chance of a short 

 cut. Just then, too, the falcon saw her opening and came down 

 with half-closed wings and was up to the houbara in a couple of 

 seconds, but missed her stoop and rose straight up again like a 

 rocketing partridge, only ten times as fast. The houbara doubled 

 and came straight back, over my head, and the falcon, finding her 

 pitch, turned and came down like a shooting star, her white breast 

 gleaming in the sunlight. Since her last stoop, the houbara had got 

 about 200 yards' start, but she is up to him in no time and once more 

 the houhara jinks and is away for all he is worth, while the falcon 

 rises with the impetus she has on, and, recovering, turns and is once 

 more descending with semi-closed wings, with every now and again 

 a dap to accelerate her already terrific pace. By this time we have 

 got back to almost the exact spot whence the houbara started, 

 and as I ride through the line of my beaters, now no longer a 

 straight line, with my eyes fixed on the birds above, I hear various 

 shouts and yells of encouragement from the deep bass of the old 

 falconer to the excited, almost crescendo shrieks of some of the boys: — 

 " Eh-lya, lya-eh-hai, butchgya" beginning in more or less natural 

 voices, as the peregrine begins her stogp, till the " hai ' is almost 

 a shriek and the " butchgya " ends off with almost a sigh, as the 

 falcon once more misses and rises to find her pitch. My old fal- 

 coner, no less excited* than the boys, old as he is, comes rushing along 

 madly, holding a fluttering falcon which cannot find a perch on his 

 shaking fist, on one hand, while the other is grabbing frantically 

 at the end of his turban, which drags along some yards behind him, 

 now hurling anathemas at his turban, now reviling the female 



