226 Leaves from an Indian Jkngle. 



long grass receives us, still slowly pacing forward, eyes 

 on ground, and a glance for on ahead. Again the tall- 

 stemmed forest covers us. That bull is making for some 

 distant ground ! The sal forest thins again, and the 

 ground becomes stony. Our little Marian trackers evince 

 greater caution, taking up the trail from the sahib, whose 

 half-educated eye has lost the to them simple guiding 

 marks. It is a little rising ground before us. Gently up 

 to the top now, and put your head quietly round the trunk 

 of that tree, rifle in hand. What! Not there ? This little 

 shallow depression among the knolls is well known to the 

 Mariahs as a favourite lair of this very bull. But to-day we 

 must pass on; he has only tarried here in seeming hesitation. 



In such manner the shikari may encompass many a weary 

 mile, during almost every pace of which all his senses 

 have to be on the stretch. Budalus is capricious. To-day 

 he may be making for a distant spot, or, suddenly tempted 

 by some, to us, unknown advantage, he may be loitering in 

 the shade of those trees. Nay, at this moment he may be 

 silently contemplating us, nose in air, horns sweeping 

 his flanks, and ears and tail suddenly held still from 

 their ordinary fly-flapping movements, ready to thunder 

 suddenly away, and from a heavy gallop settle into that 

 aggravatingly ceaseless pace that may carry him ten miles 

 before we have a chance of finding his suspicions lulled. 



But to-day we are in luck at last. Patience has its 

 reward ! Past days of toil are going to be repaid ! 



It is very hot in these stilly forests. The big rifle 

 appears to weigh a hundredfold what it did when we left 

 the sandy shore this morning ; and, in spite of a pull at the 

 water-bottle, our feet, lightly shod in an ancient pair of 

 brown tennis shoes though they be, go not any too 

 sprightly. See I A slight detour the bull made here 



