I 4 DIARY OF A SPORTSMAN NATURALIST 



a firm grip on the arm. I turned angrily to meet the 

 shikari's gleaming eyes and bared teeth. Incensed, I was 

 opening my mouth in wrath when the old hunter vigorously 

 shook his head and whispered that the sahib should re- 

 load his empty barrel and stand ready to shoot whilst he 

 would go forward to see if the animal was dead. Youngster 

 as I was and mad with excitement I was all for disobeying, 

 but some instinct made me give into the man .of the jungles 

 and I nodded. Bishu disappeared, worming his way like 

 a snake through the short undergrowth and taking 

 advantage of every tree as a shelter in his progress forward. 

 As soon as he got near enough, after a tantalizing interval 

 of quiescence,, he picked up some stones and commenced a 

 fusillade on the great black bulk of the stricken bull. But 

 no sign of life or movement came from that quarter. Slowly 

 and more slowly the shikari approached, keeping up his 

 rain of missiles until, at last, he was within some fifteen 

 yards. He then circled round so as to get below the beast, 

 and at last, after what seemed an eternity to me, who had 

 eagerly watched every movement, he held up his hand 

 and sprang lightly down into the stream, and stood beside 

 the body. I was with him in a trice, and how describe the 

 pride with which I stood beside my first old bull bison ! 

 And truly he was a magnificent beast as he lay there silent 

 in the majesty of death. 



With a youngster's disregard for the sun, the climate 

 and everything else, the head of a bottle of ice-cold Bass 

 was knocked off, and in a nectar fit for the gods an acknow- 

 ledgment of the great and brave spirit of the gallant bull 

 was drunk with fitting ceremony. 



