128 DAYS AND NIGHTS OF SHIKAR 



talked to it and said a great many things for it in 

 reply, which helped to pass the time. When the sun 

 had driven the ants away from the tent the servants 

 pitched it again under a carefully selected tree, and 

 where no branch could come in contact with it. 



I remember once being stung by a scorpion as I 

 was changing my clothes before dinner, and on 

 throwing a skirt over my head I felt a very severe 

 sting on my arm. I flung off the skirt, searched it 

 and found a scorpion in its folds. I had no remedy 

 handy, but remembered a cure that an Indian had 

 told me of shortly before. It was first to kill your 

 scorpion, cut him up fine and apply him to the 

 wound, as, the man said, every animal has an anti- 

 dote for its poison in its own body. I did this, 

 reducing the scorpion to a sort of potted meat with 

 my knife and laying it on my arm like a poultice. 

 I turned my sleeve up, so as not to interfere with the 

 arm, expecting every minute to feel severe pain and 

 anticipating a poor chance of enjoying my dinner or 

 night's rest. 



My brother Ned and I were out together and during 

 dinner he asked me a good deal about my symptoms 

 in a heartless and cold-blooded manner. Then 

 for no apparent reason he changed the subject and 

 talked about the view from our camp, how picturesque 

 it all was, and the delightful rippling of the small 

 stream that ran close by us. It was pitch dark and 

 no view was to be had then, besides I was fully taken 

 up with the importance of my sting. I told him I 

 could see nothing beautiful and he could go and 

 sketch all that he saw next morning if he liked. 



