RIFLE AND ROMANCE 



rAy remind him, that his time of promise is nigh. 

 Unfold the map ; visit each old haunt afresh ; mark as 

 likely those yet unvisited ; welcome the men returned with 

 hopeful news ; settle the route, and overhaul rifle and gun. 

 Hurrah ! for April jungles and all they hold in anticipa- 

 tion; there are compensations for an Indian summer 

 after all. 



NOON 



Hot dry jungle crackles under a vertical sun, and the 

 dust of the forest road lies away in a long grey riband 

 behind the rhythmic hoof-beats of our third change of 

 horse-flesh, as a long ride draws to its destination. 



Ahead, quivering in the heat-haze, a dip in the low, 

 woody hill country, indicative of a line of river, with those 

 glimpses of dark green groves along its banks. Mother 

 Tapti at last! 



The track curves down to cross a tributary stream, and 

 we walk the good mare across its shingly bed, under the 

 low branches of gnarled and hoary mango trees, up which 

 spring and whoop the grey apes that we have disturbed 

 at their midday drink. Far upstream the fresh green of 

 jdm&n covert ; downstream great rocks, with some pea- 

 fowl scuttling away from a little water-hole. A likely place 

 indeed ! 



We ascend the far bank slowly in deep shade ; then off 

 on a final canter. Jungle thins, and gives place to a narrow 

 clearing, its diminutive fields lying reaped and bare ; the 

 barking of village curs is heard, and a humble Korku 

 hamlet stands on its knoll, overlooking a fringe of dark 

 trees that border the river below. Our hoof-beats bring 

 out one or two of the jungle men, who, grinning in a 

 friendly way, point to a bend upstream. There, romanti- 

 cally situated in the deep shade of a spreading many- 

 trunked banyan, is the little 8o-lb. tent. A mandwa, or 



