HUNTING IN THE INDIES 211 



saddled for me the other planter turns up, also having 

 lost the hounds. 



"F is sure to find them," he says, "he knows 



so well where the elk run here." 



But before I am a mile on my road I meet the 

 Master, also disconsolate. 



" They've beat me this time. I have been to two or 

 three water-courses, but can't hear or see anything. 

 I'm going to get my pony and try some other places. 

 Good-bye, sorry you hadn't more fun." 



Just as I reach the town of Kandy, I become aware 

 of an excitement. Close to the railway station and 

 behind the new gaol is a shallow pond. This pond is 

 now surrounded by excited natives, and I hear the 

 dogs barking. 



^^ Dorai,'^ says the groom, who is running at my 

 horse's heels, '^ dorai, koota, koota,'' (Sir, the hounds, 

 the hounds.) 



I ride hastily forwards. 



Yes, there are the hounds, sure enough, within the 

 circle of natives. There, too, little more than knee- 

 deep in the pool, stands a splendid stag sambar facing 

 the baying pack. To jump off my horse and whip out 

 my hunting-knife, at the same time pushing through 

 the crowd of chattering natives, is the work of a 

 moment. On the edge I pause. It is not exactly a 

 pleasant matter to despatch the elk. His horns are 

 very serviceable-looking, and the depth of the water 

 is not great enough to impede his movements. I 

 wade cautiously in, rather behind than in front of 

 him, but looking out cautiously for a kick. The 

 danger of this particular " stick " consists in the fact 

 that the stag has long since recovered his wind, and is 



