362 IN THE LAND OF THE BORA. 



under his black velvety muzzle, till the provender 

 collected during his morning's foraging is all duly 

 disposed of. And, having found him, give him no 

 peace till he crosses the ridge. Now, hie in." 



The bitch, however, shows little desire to go. 

 The drag all round here is delightfully fresh, and 

 she revels in it for some minutes. Eound and 

 round she circles, her stern lashing her sides ; but at 

 last the circles grow wider and wider, and she dis- 

 appears from view. More and more faintly the 

 sound of the bell on her collar reaches my ears, and 

 at last dies away. All is still. Relatively, that is, 

 for far up the main valley I hear the sound of an 

 axe. In two directions cattle-bells break the 

 silence, and still further away the monotonous 

 droning of a herd-boy's pipe sounds among the 

 hills. It sounds exactly like those used by the 

 Indian samp-wallahs (snake-charmers), and carries 

 my thoughts back years, to the days when we sat 

 sweltering in the verandah to pass half an hour by 

 watching what we had seen a hundred times 

 before. I can see it all now, the almost nude 

 figure, with his cobra half erect and moving in 

 unison with his movements, the crowd of white- 

 robed servants at a respectful distance, the 



Hark ! the bell-like tones of the hound break the 

 day-dream off short, and I turn cautiously half 

 round so as better to command the passes. There 

 are two of these, a fact which stern experience has 



