HUNTING & SHOOTING IN CEYLON 



water. Here he had time to look around and take in the 

 situation, a deafening chorus of hounds at his heels, and 

 three baying long-dogs in front of him. A sorry plight 

 indeed for a stag who had run so far and so fast, and who 

 had given us such a good morning's sport. But the elk 

 hunter's heart deals with no sentiment on such occasions 

 as these, and knives flashed out of their sheaths as we stood 

 panting on the bank of the cool pool. Tip, one of the 

 lurchers who had run with the pack, and old Zulu soon 

 joined the long-dogs now threatening the stag in the water. 

 He stood in a sufficient depth to make it necessary for them 

 all to swim, and he himself, whilst cooling his sides, could 

 get back his strength and his wind. It was a fine picture, 

 as he stood with his head raised high, gazing around him 

 at his foes on the bank, and his noisy crew of four-footed 

 enemies upon all sides of him. The polished points of his 

 antlers flashed white in the sun, and his black heavy mane 

 stood out bristling on his massive neck. 



Zulu was the first to approach him, swimming boldly in 

 towards the sandbank on which he had taken up his posi- 

 tion in some 3 feet of water, and at once became the object 

 of attack. With head lowered almost to the water's level, 

 the noble beast faced his opponents, a wicked look of rage 

 in his eyes and his whole body quivering with eagerness to 

 strike. Suddenly like a flash he was on his hind legs, his 

 body reared up clear of the water, and with a bound forward 

 like the pig-jump of a horse, his fore-feet struck the water 

 over Zulu's back. He had missed his mark by an inch or 

 so, and the water had broken the force of the blow. The 

 old dog sank out of sight in midst of a blinding splash, 

 whilst the stag looked around him for further enemies. 

 These were soon forthcoming as Tip, Smiler, and Wallace 

 swam towards him. Another leap forward and a splash of 



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