About Bears 325 



grunt, and he subsides again. A rustling in front 

 makes our hearts thump, but out breaks nothing 

 more than a big red fox, that with a whisk of 

 his brush is gone. More shots down below prove 

 that the beat is proving no "frost." The noise of 

 the beaters is growing nearer, one can almost 

 catch the streams of abuse showered on the bears 

 and their relatives. A louder shout, this means 

 something; the stops high up on the ridge echo 

 it, "Hangul, hangul " (stag). Across an open 

 grassy space above me close on a hundred and 

 fifty yards are streaming a lot of hinds, no 

 stag so far, but stay, here he comes. I take a 

 point well in front of his neck, and to the shot 

 the fine beast comes rolling down the hill to yells 

 from the shikaris of "Afrin, afrin." 



I have scarcely loaded before a bear is out of 

 the jungle in front of us and is lumbering off as 

 fast as he knows how between our machan and 

 the next. To my snap-shot he gives a grunt of 

 anger and throws himself head over heels down 

 the hill. Over and over he goes like a ball, 

 to an accompaniment of grunts which get fainter 

 and fainter till they can be heard no longer. Well, 

 we know what that means a wounded bear to 

 be followed. The drive is soon over, and the 

 beaters emerge and stand awaiting orders, as 

 well-trained beaters should. The guns assemble 



