THE MEERUT TENT CLUB 103 



part, compelling his rider to wade up to his neck 

 through the icy water. 



On re-forming line we are in the typical grass 

 hunting country, one long line of yellow grass, chest 

 high, with palms and tufts of jhow stretching to 

 the horizon, while on our left runs the ever-present 

 bourrh gunga. At our feet in the open spaces lie 

 pools of water from the recent rain, reflecting the 

 blue sky and looking uncomfortably slippery. Not 

 a sound can be heard but the quiet swish of the 

 coolies. Nothing but the eager faces of the riders 

 scanning the country and the occasional fretting 

 of a high-strung horse betokens the prospect of 

 immediate sport. 



Suddenly the calm is broken by a shout from 

 some beaters on the left, and a sharp yelp from the 

 shikari on the nearest camel, " Sahib, soor beitha." 

 They have found a pig squatting. We pull up and 

 watch the nearest heat canter up and beat the patch 

 with their spears. There is an instant commotion, 

 and then away they go at top speed, a pretty sight. 

 A short run it must be, starting, as they do, at this 

 pace on the boar's tail. Z on his good bay has the 

 advantage, and makes the running, but a jink 

 favours Y, and the two ride neck and neck. A third 

 jink helps little D, and he shoots in between the 

 astonished pair and their pig, getting the spear, 

 while Z catches his hind legs in a hole, and comes 

 down spread-eagled. A dangerous foul, my friend, 

 if there ever was one. However, D explains that 

 he could not hold his horse, a new one borrowed 

 from Lucknow ; and it only remains for the heat 

 to condole with him on his horse. 



But our master has no ears for the tale, and 

 signals his line on. In a little time we see Puran 



