CHAPTER VIII 



VARIOUS GAME : 

 MY BROTHER GORED BY A BISON 



By C. W. G. Morris 



On the 5th of April 1893 I shot a really fine 

 stag sambhur, fine, at least, for the district I 

 write about. It was at the same hollow where I 

 shot my first deer of this species. The great 

 difficulty about bagging sambhur is their reluct- 

 ance to being in the open by dayhght. In the 

 evening they generally came out when it was 

 almost dusk, and as for the mornings, only on 

 rare occasions have I been early enough to find 

 them in the open. On this particular occasion 

 I had determined to spend the night in the 

 vicinity, and long before daybreak, by a good 

 moon, had taken up my position within half a 

 mile of this favourite hollow, thinking that as I 

 was opposite a piece of jungle which I must 

 cross when the light was good enough, I might 

 possibly see a stag by moonlight. The sit-out 

 was very cold and very weird ; some ice birds 

 kept up their incessant call (so named because 

 their cry is just like the noise a pebble makes 

 when thrown on the ice), chuck, chuck, chucking 

 in the distance. Once a sambhur evidently got 



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