96 DIARY OF A SPORTSMAN NATURALIST 



us was anxious for a mauling. We left the rocks and got 

 on to the open hill-side again, and the trail then turned and 

 went upwards. Ten minutes passed and still no sign of 

 the bear, but plenty of blood. Again we were approaching 

 rocks and went warily. The blood went up to a rock half 

 the size of a small cottage and then took round the base. 

 We turned the corner and there was our quarry slinking off 

 up the hill-side, about twenty-five paces away and evidently 

 hard hit. I aimed for the neck and this time reached the 

 spot, and bruin came rolling down the hill on top of us. 

 We sprang apart and the animal went between us, and was 

 pulled up by the rocks below. It was quite dead when we 

 got up to it, and from first to last had not uttered a sound. 

 I was tempted almost to believe that it was dumb, although 

 the probable reason for its silence was cowardice. 



Leaving the shikari to make arrangements to get coolies 

 to bring the bears into camp, I set off on my four-mile 

 tramp, and on the way back through the beautiful sal forest 

 with the green grassy savannahs occurring at intervals, I 

 counted roughly over three hundred deer, chital, barasingha, 

 and sambhar. What a gorgeous shikar country that was 

 in the old days. It is still, but the numbers are nothing 

 like they once were. Nor could one expect it nowadays, 

 I suppose. 



