IN AN INDIAN FOREST RESERVE 279 



much below the eyes. Either of these would have 

 been fatal with the 12-bore. As it was he had lived 

 an hour, and then galloped some three miles with- 

 out apparent difficulty. This was indeed a scathing 

 commentary on the Express with hollow bullet. I 

 never fired at a nylghau again except with a 12-bore. 

 I rode back to my people, and ordered them to 

 get a cart and bring the bull to my house. The 

 trap had turned up and I started to drive home. 

 En route it fell dark. Never have I seen a blacker 

 night. To make matters worse, the fearfully vivid 

 lightning blinded driver and ponies. Over and over 

 again we found ourselves off the road. The rain 

 came down in bucketfuls. We nearly wound up 

 with a serious accident, for the driver drove against 

 one of the side rails of a bridge. But though it 

 broke it did not let the trap fall over. I was shot 

 out and broke my knees. At length we saw the 

 lights of the cantonment, and half an hour later, 

 having revelled in a warm bath, I was sitting down 

 to a somewhat late dinner. 



I still thought that this particular jungle owed 

 me something, and about a month later (September 

 18th) I went out to beat it again. 



I had the worst of bad luck all day, seeing plenty 

 of nylghau, but all cows and calves, at which I would 

 not shoot. At last I reached the place I have pre- 

 viously described. Nothing came to the gun, but 

 some two hundred yards up the left-hand valley I 

 saw a huge bull. Apparently he saw or avoided me, 

 for he turned off into a little side valley. When 

 the beaters came to me, I told them to return by 

 the plain outside and beat this little valley to me. 



