Leaves from art Indian Jungle. 



ground, lost no time in scattering- themselves all over the 

 place, the cowbells tinkling merrily in a way that was 

 doubtless peculiarly fascinating to a tiger. I immediately 

 ascended to my machdn, which had been erected with great 

 care in the branches of a big mhowa tree that flung its 

 boughs over the pool, and all the men at once returned to 

 camp ; the cowherds intensely relieved, as they had done 

 their work in fear and trembling even under the protection 

 of myself and rny orderly with rifles. 



" I may remind you of my invariable custom of sitting 

 up at night alone. 



" As the sun sank in a bank of murky clouds and a fitful 

 wind began sighing through the forest, I began to make up 

 my mind that I was in for an all-night vigil of the fruitless 

 kind we know so well, for 1 could hear the cowbells tin- 

 kling nearer and nearer as the instinct of their wearers led 

 them to make tracks for home, and they approached the 

 narrow outlet to the valley on their way ; shortly a bony 

 old cow, the most knowing of the lot, hove in sight, then 

 another, and another, each pacing slowly forward with 

 rythmically nodding head and swinging tail. The cun- 

 ning plan had evidently failed, and the striped autocrat 

 was presumably ' not taking any.' 



" Just, I say, as I was reconciling myself to the idea of 

 sitting the night out, on the chance of the tiger coming to 

 drink, there was a sudden mighty commotion in the rear of 

 the herd ; and a moment later a sea of tossing horns, 

 stampeding hoofs, and upraised tails passed under my tree, 

 as a crowd of wild, mad, panic-stricken cattle scurried 

 through the pass and out beyond, where the frenzied clack- 

 ing of their bells died away in the direction of the nearest 

 village. I felt that they must have left one of their number 

 behind, and there came over me that self-same thrill that 



