working busily round the sable. For some minutes 

 I sat with him between my legs, wisping away the flies 

 with a small branch and wondering what to do. It 

 soon became clear that there was nothing to be gained 

 by waiting : instead of passing away the fly became 

 more numerous, and there was not a moment's peace 

 or comfort to be had, for they were tackling me on 

 the neck, arms, and legs, where the thorn-ripped pants 

 left them bare to the knees ; so, slinging the rifle over 

 my shoulder, 1 picked Jock up, greatly to his discomfort, 

 and carried him off in my arms at the best pace possible 

 under the circumstances. Half a mile of that was 

 enough, however : the weight, the awkwardness of 

 the position, the effort to screen him, and the difficulty 

 of picking my way in very rough country at the same 

 time, were too much for me. A tumble into a grass- 

 hidden hole laid us both out sprawling, and I sat down 

 again to rest and think, swishing the flies off as before. 



Then an idea came which, in spite of all the anxiety, 

 made me laugh, and ended in putting poor old Jock 

 in quite the most undignified and ridiculous plight 

 he had known since the days of his puppyhood when 

 his head stuck in the bully-beef tin or the hen pecked 

 him on the nose. I ripped off as much of my shirt 

 as was not needed to protect me against the flies, and 

 making holes in it for his legs and tail fitted him out 

 with a home-made suit in about five minutes. Time 

 was everything : it was impossible to run with him 

 in my arms, but we could run together until we got 

 out of the fly belt, and there was not much risk of 

 being bitten as long as we kept up the running in the 



442 



