A RECORD OTTER HUNT 63 



had shot a few days before. Our thirteen guests sat in 

 the stoe'p smoking their after-dinner pipes, and dis- 

 cussing the prospects of sport on the morrow over a glass 

 of Scotch whisky, and M. and myself were placing 

 " shake-downs " for them, when Tom P., the jovial 

 huntsman of the then lately imported pack of English 

 foxhounds, which was kennelled a few miles away, rode 

 up to the bungalow with a couple of old hounds. 



" Good-evening, gentlemen ; the Master's compli- 

 ments, and he sent old Amazon and Guardsman for you 

 to try : I doubt neither of 'em have ever seen an otter 

 since they were whelped, but they took kindly enough 

 to both jackal and buck," said Tom, before burying his 

 nose in a long sleever of " Bass." 



" It's very good of IVIr (M.F.H.), and I hope you 



will lend us a hand to-morrow, Tom." 



" Well, gentlemen, I've only been out with otter- 

 hounds once in my life, and that was a good many years 

 ago ; but as it's a non-hunting day with me to-morrow, 

 I should be glad to hunt with you," was Tom's reply ; 

 and as the nights were fine and dry, he elected to take up 

 his quarters on the stoejp that night. 



The first bright spears of the sun were beginning to 

 bathe the summits of a distant chain of low-lying kopjes 

 in a golden flood, when old Mamba, our Swazi servant, 

 awoke the slumbering echoes of the bungalow by playing 

 the devil's tattoo on a kettle, saucepan, or some other 

 instrument of torture. Very soon every man was out 

 of the blankets, and a general rush was made for the 



