CHAPTER VI 



A CHAPTER OF MISTAKES IN 1920 

 " Held we fall to rise, are baffled to fight better, sleep to wake." 



In the preceding chapter I have talked rather big 

 of success, but now I must indeed cry small ; 

 for in this shoot, a year before the one in that 

 chapter, everything possible went wrong, and I 

 made every stupid mistake that a man could. 



But I shall always ascribe this as largely due 

 to the Sacred Tank. This little tank, miles 

 from any temple or Indian dwelling-place, lay 

 on the fringe of the jungle near our forest bunga- 

 low, in the block where my wife and I had been 

 given leave to shoot. The little old chowkidar 

 said that the tank was sacred, and that it must 

 never be disturbed. Alas, duck on the water 

 were too tempting, and I shot some of them. 

 Also I fired at and missed a four-horned antelope 

 in the vicinity. 



We got a kill in a few days on an isolated hill 

 near civilization. As I went to sit up, some 

 animal of the cat tribe crossed the fire-line in 

 front of me, but it was too far for me to make 

 out whether tiger or panther. I could find no 

 satisfactory footprints. 



The shikaris were away reconnoitring. They 



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