Antlers 



tree to tree, and orchids and delicate ferns cling to 

 stem and branch ; and down below, the forest floor 

 is hidden by the dense matted undergrowth of the 

 rains, in which disports itself, safe at this season from 

 our gaze and rifle, the four-footed life of the forest. 



There is something about these wanderings on 

 an elephant at all seasons of the year, and es- 

 pecially of the shooting year, which sends a thrill 

 through one as the mind looks back at them. 



One sees the jungle with such a different eye 

 from the lofty perch, and learns to notice objects 

 and animal life which are quite lost to one whilst 

 on the ground. 



Animals, too, are seen at such a different per- 

 spective from the pad and appear so very and 

 surprisingly small in the tall grass jungle. 



As one sways slowly along, sitting, if on a pad, 

 up behind the mahout with legs straddled down 

 on either side, there is a rustle in the grass and 

 suddenly a herd of chitul go skipping away in 

 front, only their heads and backs and white scuts 

 appearing in the upper grass as they reach the 

 top of their bounds. Or a heavy rush proclaims 

 something larger, and ere the rifle is at the 

 shoulder a dark patch going at full tilt has ap- 

 peared and disappeared a sambhar, frightened un- 

 fortunately and gone never to be seen again that 

 day. Farther on, a sudden chorus of grunts and 

 squeaks proclaims a sounder of pig and for a 

 moment the jungle appears alive with them, the 



9 



