154 STALKS ABROAD 



us as we set out that morning in the chill of the 

 early dawn. With us came a tall muffled figure, 

 whom we subsequently knew as Pertap Singh, of 

 the same clan as his famous namesake. A drive 

 of three miles past droves of posing, self-conscious, 

 camels from the distant Ajmere market ; bullock carts ; 

 ekkas, those expansive vehicles which seem capable 

 of holding an unlimited number of passengers pro- 

 vided only that they are indigenous ; swaggering 

 men with swords, and cringing beggars in rags, 

 brought us to the spot at which the bullock tongas 

 were waiting. The whole thing savoured more of a 

 deer drive given by a millionaire than the solitary 

 stalk which we had anticipated. There were bullock 

 drivers and shikaris, and, when once we had started, 

 horsemen on splendid mounts who came to mark any 

 wounded beasts, straight, save for their smart, well- 

 fitting khaki, from the pages of the " Arabian Nights." 

 Through some misunderstanding, for Burton was to 

 have first shot, I found myself in the leading tonga 

 with Pertap Singh. The tall pani grass shut us in 

 on every hand, and five yards from the road we might 

 have been miles from any highway. Great clumps 

 of it shot into the air, twelve or fifteen feet high, 

 their feathery tops flushing in the crimson dawn as 

 they swayed and bowed to the coming of the sun. 

 Then from behind the nearest bunch came a buck. 

 With the tail of my eye I could see Burton franti- 

 cally struggling with a refractory rifle cap. Whilst 

 he struggled the buck took a few steps forward ; after 



