ON THE WEST COAST OF CEYLON 71 



At last I felt sure I saw something moving in the 

 deep shade of some wild mango-trees. I half raised 

 my rifle, leaning forward to try and distinguish a 

 head or a tail, or anything which could guide me 

 as to where to aim and also as to what the animals 

 really were. 



Just at that moment a sonorous snore from my 

 left broke the silence. Crash ! went the buffaloes — 

 for such they proved to be — through the jungle, and 

 my chance was gone. A sound cuif aroused Master 

 Jim Crow from his slumbers, to hear such language 

 as I trust I have not often been guilty of. I can 

 certainly plead extreme provocation, but for five 

 minutes or so the recording angel must have been 

 pretty busy with my page. At length I felt I had 

 verbally and manually done my utmost to rouse 

 Master Jim Crow to a sense of his sin, and not 

 feeling inclined to persevere after such a crushing 

 blow, I descended the tree. After lighting our lan- 

 tern I examined the spoor. Buffaloes they certainly 

 were, and apparently one was a bull, for the hoofs 

 were a great deal bigger than the others. I lit a 

 cheroot and made for the carts, which were soon 

 under way for our next camp. 



I did not feel inclined to go out next morning, 

 so Will went alone and shot a buck axis. He told 

 me he had seen a good lot of bear spoor, and Jim 

 Crow swore he knew "berry good tank," so I agreed 

 to go again. 



I had been waiting over the " berry good tank," 

 which turned out to be a small, dirty-looking pond, 

 about an hour and a half. I need hardly say that 

 this time I had not failed to keep a sharp eye on 

 Jim, pushing him whenever I noticed he remained 



