ON THE KAMBUKENAAR RIVER. 173 



well-known and lovely " Park country," where large 

 grass-covered rolling plains alternate with clumps of 

 fine trees and covert. This is the height of perfection 

 in a shooting country, but at this time we were a good 

 many days' march from the " Park." 



The trackers were waiting for us when we com- 

 pleted our night-march, and told us they had found a 

 small herd not far away. Arrangements for an early 

 start were soon made, and we turned in again. I say 

 " again " because we had followed our old plan of 

 sleeping in a cart during the night journey. 



Next morning the rising sun found us already 

 en route. The beauty of those tropical mornings will 

 always remain with me. All was gray a minute back, 

 but swiftly the red ball rises on the horizon. In ten 

 minutes it is day, the dewdrops shine on every leaf, 

 and our long shadows are surrounded with a luminous 

 outline. I believe this is scientifically called a 

 perihelion, and I have only seen it in Ceylon. A 

 peacock screams defiance from yonder stump, and the 

 great black wandara monkeys greet the day with 

 loud guttural cries like cheers, " Houwah ! Houwah ! " 

 We cannot linger, however. If you stand a minute 

 the grass all round writhes with land-leeches hastening 

 to the banquet you provide ; and see the velvety look 

 of the dead branch by your elbow. It is covered with 

 ticks. Brush against it, and a score of them will soon 

 be burying themselves in your skin, each one burning 

 like a red-hot knitting needle. Besides, Sin 'Appu 

 turns round with a grin, pointing to a branch freshly 

 broken. The giant game is before us, and while we 



