HUNTING & SHOOTING IN CEYLON 



Then up the steep face beyond, almost precipitous 

 in places, strewn with loose stones, and a blazing sun 

 overhead. 



Panting and struggling on, hearts almost bursting, 

 upward still we climb, for do we not know that a grand 

 stag is at bay in a pool not half a mile beyond the ridge 

 we are making for ? 



We reach the summit and for a moment pause to listen. 

 Our own panting and heart-beating almost prevents our 

 hearing anything else. But hark ! there they are yes 

 in the very pool they were expected to be in, and baying 

 furiously, every hound of them, right away in that deep 

 hollow in the Ohiya Valley. 



An easy descent now, though it be through thick 

 tangled forest and down boulder-strewn gorges. 



Down we slide and slither, hanging on to moss and 

 fern and tufts of grass. Nearer and nearer to the " bay " 

 we get, and more and more we magnify in our minds and 

 vision the wonderful head we are to see a grand old 

 fighting stag with a record head ! Another fifty yards 

 and we tear our way through the thick undergrowth and 

 reach the pool, and there in the middle of it, with scut 

 erect and impatient stamping of hoofs in the muddied 

 water, stands a hind ! No one wants to kill her, and 

 I fear the language hurled at her by panting and sweating 

 sportsmen is none of the choicest. However, hounds have 

 run well and deserve their reward. 



They have no ancestral halls to decorate with trophies 

 of the chase ; a good feed of warm blood is all they ask 

 for, and they must have it. 



Dog boys have come up at last, and perhaps a flask 

 or two. The run is run over again, with many marvellous 

 tales of what each one saw of it, and where imaginary 



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