SUBALPINE REGIONS 177 



lights could be seen, when evening closed, twinkling in 

 numbers. The tents were pitched in a terraced field, and 

 the natives gave us every assistance and supplies of flour, 

 rice, ghee, milk, and firewood. 



The headman informed me of their great troubles. 

 The Indian-corn crops, which they took such trouble to 

 sow and cultivate, were eaten up every year by the bears. 

 Farmers always have some good reason why agriculture 

 is a hopeless failure. The fields I had passed seemed to 

 be most flourishing, the great stems of the corn, an inch 

 or more thick, standing closely together and weighed 

 down with heavy corn cobs. I had, however, observed 

 that in nearly every field there was a machan or hut of 

 some sort overlooking the terraces adjoining, and fires 

 of logs were burning before the huts. These were for 

 the watchers at night, who tried to keep the bears off their 

 own fields by throwing burning logs at them and hunting 

 them into their neighbours' fields, where they might 

 graze in peace till the neighbour awoke and began the 

 driving process. Bruin, though he got moved on pretty 

 often, managed to take good toll out of most fields. 

 These fields were not large, only patches of cultivation 

 reclaimed from the jungle, with terraces supported by 

 rough walls, exactly like those on the Riviera where the 

 olives grow. 



The night was dark and a steady rain falling. Pre- 

 sently a breathless voice at the tent door said 'Sahib, 

 sahib, reetch ai gia P (' The bears have come '). Seizing 

 a couple of double rifles which were tied to the tent-pole, 

 I handed one to the villager, who with a companion stood 

 pointing towards the terrace next below. There was a 

 crescent moon overhead and light clouds drifting across 

 its face. There was just light enough to distinguish the 

 shape of the terrace we stood upon, and the outhne of 



12 



