2 3 6 GUN, RIFLE, AND HOUND. 



my box has started for Kandy, where I had promised 

 to breakfast. So I must ride down as I am, although 

 my clothes are rather ragged from the morning's work. 



Before F 's horse is saddled for me the other 



planter turns up, also having lost the hounds. 



" F is sure to find them," he says, " he knows 



so well where the elk run here." 



But before I am a mile on my road I meet the 

 master, also disconsolate. 



" They've beat me this time. I have been to two 

 or three watercourses, but can't hear or see anything. 

 I'm going to get my pony and try some other places. 

 Good-bye, sorry you hadn't more fun." 



Just as I reach the town of Kandy, I become aware 

 of an excitement. Close to the railway station and 

 behind the new gaol is a shallow pond. This pond is 

 now surrounded by excited natives, and I hear their 

 dogs barking. 



" Dorai" says the groom, who is running at my 

 horse's heels, " dorai, koota, koota" (Sir, the hounds, 

 the hounds.) 



I ride hastily forwards. 



Yes, there are the hounds, sure enough, within the 

 circle of natives. There, too, little more than knee- 

 deep in the pool, stands a splendid stag sambur facing 

 the baying pack. To jump off my horse and whip 

 out my hunting-knife, at the same time pushing 

 through the crowd of chattering natives, is the work of 

 a moment. On the edge I pause. It is not exactly a 

 pleasant matter to despatch the elk. His horns are 



