166 RIFLE AND ROMANCE 



in a downward swoop. Why is it that moonlight should 

 throw such mystery over the woods ? The slightest sound 

 appears to be a loud and startling uproar, and the occasional 

 scratching indulged in by Abbas Khan as if it would be 

 sufficient warning to all animals for miles. 



Curious small noises come and go in the dry leaves, and 

 two tiny owls cause quite a stir as they softly alight on a 

 slender teak pole, which has a few huge dried leaves 

 attached to its topmost twigs. 



The mind, too, is gently influenced by the quiet scene, 

 and wonders how there can be such things as rage and 

 strife. Why should life not glide thus peacefully on, with- 

 out jar, in calm beatitude ! 



The ear catches a far-distant, gentle stirring in the car- 

 peting of dry teak leaves, now dying away, and then again 

 increasing, coming nearer, stopping, recommencing. The 

 sounds come from the lower portion of that long steep spur 

 which runs from the little level vale of yellow grass right 

 up to the soft, indistinct distance of crag-encircled plateaux 

 far above us. 



The colours of the sleeping landscape, though restricted 

 to blues, greys, and palest yellow, are still marvellously 

 diverse in tone : there the rich soft blue-black of some 

 deep ravine ; here the sharp dark branches of a gnarled 

 tiwas tree in high relief against a pale background of long, 

 withered grass. 



The crackling of leaves is more pronounced now, and 

 the binoculars are raised to the dark line of forest where it 

 touches the grass land. Nothing shows for many long 

 minutes. 



At length a tall black object is spied moving slowly 

 forward, and after a while it steps into a patch of moonlight, 

 which falls through the twisted boughs, and appears to 

 view a fine old sambar stag, with newly-sprouted horns 

 in "velvet." A tall salai tree is before him, and here 

 he pauses and raises his muzzle; then, leaning side- 



