378 THE HUNTING GROUNDS 



can of grog are indeed luxuries, and old familiar 

 airs and stirring tales go round cheerily, carrying 

 the heart back to happy bygone scenes of home, and 

 dear old friends, far away in " Merrie England." 

 None of my sporting chums caring to accompany 

 me in this trip to regions marked in the best maps 

 as "unknown tracts," I was without companion, 

 and time hung heavily on my hands when not en 

 route, or on the look-out for game, so I was very 

 glad when the Bey EfFendi came to consult me as 

 to the most suitable arrangement for the morrow's 

 battue. He was accompanied by a very intelligent 

 young fellow of his tribe, who, whilst watching the 

 cattle out at pasture, had discovered the lair of an 

 immense bear, whose depredations had been severely 

 felt during the winter months, when, emboldened 

 by hunger, he had carried off horses picketed close 

 to the "konac." 



I decided to beat him out, if possible, and, after 

 a long smoking-match, and some talk with the Bey 

 as to the best plan of proceeding, he went to warn 

 his people to be in readiness to start at the first 

 appearance of dawn on the morrow, and I crept into 

 my tent, rolled myself up in my blankets, and, being 

 tired, was soon in a sound sleep, from which I was 

 awakened by some one, as I thought, unceremoni- 

 ously shaking me by the shoulder ; but the visitor 

 proved to be a half-famished prowling jackal, who 

 was trying to drag away the buffalo-robe which 

 served as an outer covering. I scared him away 



