44 Leaves from an Indian Jungle. 



stirrup-leathers were torn from saddles, and excited sports- 

 men deposited in more or less damp spots with a celerity that 

 spoke volumes for the efficacy of the entanglements. " Where 

 is he ? where is he?" gasped a hunter who was pale with 

 hurry, and at whose belt hung various knives and other lethal 

 weapons. " Where is he ? " we bellowed, in English and the 

 vernacular, to the scandalised and horror-stricken tender of 

 the garden land, who stood on one leg, with his hands joined 

 despairingly, as we swept through the lush vegetation. 



A howl, and a small white terrier flung from out a bush, 

 put us on the track once more, and this first of " first spears " 

 was scored by a lucky jab downwards, as the boar rushed 

 with a vicious lunge right and left between our horses' legs, 

 "' Ware blind wells!" we yell, and the chase is resumed, to 

 finally merge into a furiously struggling mass of stamping 

 hoofs, angry grunts, and upraised spear- shafts, where the 

 harried pig, gnawing a fetlock or two and desperately 

 fighting to rise, gives up the ghost with evident relief and r 

 in the spirit, is fled from the horrible inferno which, in the 

 body, he could not escape. 



Our local "cowboy " now dismounted, and, despite remon- 

 strances, " killed " the already dead boar several times over, 

 by shoving a large species of knife into the limp carcase. 



Being the first time we had worked the Pakhal Naddi 

 the ground was more or less unknown to us, and a good pig' 

 got away, unseen, in the direction of the Chandrabhaga a 

 river that comes down from the hills about a couple of miles 

 to the west, and which was the nearest haven of security 

 for pigs driven from the Pakhal. 



There now ensued a long period of inaction and patient 

 waiting. In time, however, the faint popping of kawit bombs 

 and the crack of blank cart ridge sounded nearer, mingled with 

 the music of the kerosine tins ; and after a while the bushes 



