86 RIFLE AND SPEAR WITH THE RAJPOOTS. 



Flowers are a cheap form of backsheesh for the memsahib, 

 and at the end of a march I look like the "bunched" 

 beauty of a cotillon. 



After luncheon the road follows the crest of the hill, 

 with not an inch of shade. In parts it is paved, and 

 like an interminable staircase. The sun beats down on 

 it fiercely, and our plain servants simply revel in the 

 heat, and are as sorry as I am glad when the holly trees 

 and shade re-appear. The ground for miles is covered 

 with a little bush, which at this time of year turns 

 a vivid crimson, and makes a striking contrast against 

 the dark green of the hollies, and the blue of the 

 distant mountains. 



We pass through a little village apparently inhabited 

 by better-to-do people, for the. roofs are fenced around, 

 and on them are heaps of pumpkins piled up to ripen. 



A little further we come to quite an ideal spot for 

 a camp — on the top of a little mountain with such steep 

 sides that the coolies appear to be coming out of the ground 

 as one by one they arrive. There is a big tree to shelter 

 our tent, and another fallen handy for firewood, whilst, 

 to crown all, a tiny spring of excellent water bubbles 

 out of the ground close by. Alas ! only man was vile. 

 We had hardly arrived when a furious fight broke out 

 between the new chuprassie the Tehsildar had given us, 

 and one of the coolies. The latter, accustomed to our 



