RIFLE & ROMANCE 

 IN THE INDIAN JUNGLE 



A< 



AN INDIAN SUMMER'S DAY 



MORNING 



"WJ^OEL! Ko-YEL!" from the feathery tamarinds. 



M< The faint breeze accompanying an Indian 



M ^L dawn has died away, and a burning March sun 



is climbing into a hard blue sky, casting hard 



blue shadows across the smooth, white, tree-bordered road 



of the little cantonment. 



"Tok tok tok tok!" from the glossy new pipal 

 leaves hammers the little barbet, all head and beak if you 

 can see him and punctuating each monotonous note with 

 a sidelong nod, now right, now left. 



Soon Nature will lie wrapped in the noontide silence. 

 The hot weather has come once more, and the exile girds 

 up his loins for resistance, passive though it may be, till 

 relieved at the bursting of the next monsoon rains. The 

 punkah has recommenced its weary flap ; and many an 

 unhappy individual, uncheered even by that priceless 

 thirst which is now his right, is settling into a quiet 

 hypochondria. 



But to the shikari come no discomforting thoughts. 

 Let the sun do his fiercest, and the " brain-fever-bird " his 

 worst, while parched leaves eddy in the scorching blast 

 B 



