Horns 



kinds was present. A stream ran down the 

 centre of the valley, and on its banks were 

 seen the stately banyan, the beautiful pipal, 

 and brakes of the feathery bamboo. The whole 

 valley lay in a flood of golden sunlight, and one 

 could not but pause to admire the prospect whilst 

 the shikaris hunted for the tracks of the animals 

 we were following or for fresher ones. The valley 

 was not very wide, and immediately in front rose 

 a very stony hill, which I mentally prayed I might 

 not have to climb. The shikaris soon returned, 

 and reported that there were no fresh tracks, 

 and that our old ones led up the stony hill, and 

 so up we went. When approaching the summit 

 we came upon a small footpath or rough track 

 made by wild animals, trending round the hill, 

 and this path the bison had followed. We proceeded 

 in their footsteps over frightfully rocky ground. I 

 found negotiating large boulders, encumbered by a 

 heavy rifle (for one should carry one's weapon 

 when bison-tracking, as one rarely knows when 

 one may get a snap shot), pretty heavy work under 

 the rays of a July sun. The trail led down the 

 hill, and we finally found ourselves in a rocky 

 nullah bed, along which we toiled. The sun was 

 very powerful, and I was grateful for the shade 

 the trees growing here afforded. The ravine soon 

 branched, and a consultation took place. The 

 bison had here separated, two going off in the 

 branch which, so I was told, finally headed off 



in 



