HUNTING IN THE INDIES 203 



it up, but she is beat, and has squatted but little 

 further on. I walk almost on to her, and as she 

 bounces up Barmaid has her. '' Whoo-whoop 1 " 



Later on we find again on the edge of the jungle 

 that covers the hill. She goes up the hill, and I fear 

 we shall not be able to get to hounds, but on the top 

 she turns. There she goes across the grass, looking 

 fresh enough. She runs nearly round the estate, 

 and again she mounts the hill. A rare hare this ! 

 Foot by foot she retraces the old line. We, who 

 cannot possibly get through the jungle, wait below. 

 Once more she emerges, now visibly more tired, and 

 crosses the plain, trying by doubling to throw out the 

 hounds. But though the sun is now hot, they stick 

 to it manfully. For the third time she enters the 

 jungle, but hardly are the hounds in than she doubles 

 back, stotting slowly along, almost black with sweat. 

 My horn is out in a second and the hounds swing 

 round to the sound. As they break covert they view 

 her at the bottom of the slope. Druid is first, but 

 the old hound has got a bit slow, and Bingwood is 

 first up. " Whoo-whoop ! " I run down and take her 

 from them. She has not been dead a minute, and 

 yet I hold her out as stiff as a poker. 



"Capital run," says our host, driving up; "just 

 three-quarters of an hour." 



" Have a pad," I answer. " All the hounds here, 

 boy ? Then whoo-whoop, worry, worry, worry I " and 

 the hare is torn into fifty pieces. 



" I'm sure they deserve her," says somebody, and 

 we all assent. 



"Now let us go and have some breakfast," says 

 the host. What a breakfast we ate, and how we all 

 agreed that this was the best of all possible ways 



