292 CASUALS IN THE CAUCASUS 



following the path of that vanished sounder down 

 imperial avenues of beeches and oaks, almost one 

 would have said a hundred wounded boars had 

 passed along, dyeing the foliage everywhere with 

 their life's blood. All the undergrowth was aflame 

 with a beautiful scarlet-tongued flower bursting from 

 a velvety sheath of blackest black, a lovely thing, 

 growing. Plucked, its juices smelt horribly, and in a 

 moment or two the glories of its brilliant petals faded 

 and hung limp and colourless from your fingers. 



We had practically nothing to guide us, for scarcely 

 a blood spot was visible, as is the way with wounds 

 inflicted by any of the small-bore rifles. The early 

 hunters who were accustomed to following up a 

 regular river of betraying scarlet would find a difference 

 in these sporting days. I can imagine the shade of 

 Cornwallis Harris calling a Mannlicher " too scientific." 



A furious scuffling ahead warned us to go carefully. 

 Off again, gallant old boar, game to the last ! 



Next we ran him into a fairly open natural clearing, 

 where flame-coloured rushes grew in solid clumps, and 

 behind one of these he sulked and sulked and thought 

 out the manner of his end. 



With a weird scream of wrath all unexpectedly he 

 charged out on us ; we scattered as he came. His 

 wiry bristles were on-ended, and I could hear the 

 grinding of his tushes as he shot by me. Ali, in trying 

 to avoid the onslaught, almost fell into it, and the 

 enraged boar passed the old man by a mere hair's- 

 breadth. 



The fast thundering charge slackened, and, turning 



