CHAPTER IV 



CHAMBA INTO KASHMIR 



Ere the moon has climbed the mountain, ere the rocks are ribbed 



with light, 



When the downward-dipping tails are dank and drear, 

 Comes a breathing hard behind thee, snuffle-snuffle through the 



night 



It is Fear, O Little Hunter, it is Fear! 



On thy knees and draw the bow ; bid the shrilling arrow go ; 

 In the empty, mocking thicket plunge the spear ; 

 But thy hands are loosed and weak, and the blood has left thy 



cheek- 

 It is Fear, O Little Hunter, it is Fear ! 



RUDYARD KIPLING. 



OFF at last ! Delightfully independent we felt 

 as we rode out of the Residency about 

 7.30 a.m., our faces set towards the <c back of 

 beyond." There is no feeling like it ! To be in 

 your oldest of old clothes, to feel you are going out 

 of the reach of letters, telegrams, and the faces of 

 the civilised world ; free to go and to do exactly 

 as the spirit of the moment moves you ; only your- 

 self to answer to : time is of no object ; you may 

 wait or hurry, eat where you like, sleep where you 

 like. It is the only life the only life worth living 

 for we mortals who have been born with the necessity 

 of change rooted in our beings. 



1x3 8 



