20 RIFLE AND SPEAR WITH THE RAJPOOTS. 



pulled them up, and then the old jibbing game recom- 

 menced. 



The river here roared hundreds of feet below us. It was 

 a dark night, but occasional flashes of lightning gave us a 

 glimpse of the water at the foot of a descent so sheer that 

 the torrent seemed absolutely to rush under our feet. To- 

 day's rain has washed away in many places the low wall at 

 the side of the road, and, naturally, our horses selected 

 those spots to back and jib. We were not sorry to reach 

 Domel, where two Englishmen at dinner in the verandah of 

 the bungalow looked cheery and home like. 



The road to the bungalow leads through the native 

 village, and we had to pull up to a walk and frequently 

 halt, to avoid driving over the numerous family groups, 

 squatted eating or sleeping on the highway. No carriage 

 except the post is supposed to travel after dark, and the 

 metalled road being the cleanest and driest spot handy, the 

 villagers bring out their beds, light their fires and 

 thoroughly make themselves at home on the public road. 

 Their houses on either side appear to be only used as store- 

 rooms, for they never seem to live inside. 



Lighted up by numerous fires, it was a very pictur- 

 esque scene : burnished cooking-pots, brightly-clad women, 

 turbaned men, huge black buffaloes and curiously shaped 

 carts, all jumbled pell-mell together. There was a decided 

 Irish touch about it all, the buffalo being the Hindoo sub- 



