210 A Sportswoman in India 



At last we reached a clear space on a sort of ridge, 

 which cut across the jungle, running all down the 

 side of the hill on which we were. By standing in 

 a position which commanded the backbone of the 

 ridge, S. could get a shot along it on either side ; had 

 there been three guns instead of one, any bear crossing 

 the ridge should be a dead one ; as it was, there was 

 a good deal of luck about it. S. and I sat down in 

 the shade, waiting until the beaters began ; Lalla close 

 to us, eagerly scanning the hillside with glasses ; and 

 the chota shikari, with our bottle of cold tea and the 

 spare eight-bore duck-gun, crouched in some bushes. 



It was a grand spot to wait and watch in trees, 

 flowers, birds, mountains, and the valley round us. 

 All at once, far away in the distance, broke a long 

 cry, as of many voices, a pow-wow-wow it might 

 almost be hounds running ; but a quarter of an hour 

 later, as it came nearer, the tom-toms dispelled that 

 illusion. No ; it was our hundred and fifty coolies, 

 who had begun the honk and were beating in our direc- 

 tion. All was at attention in a moment. 



I slid out of sight behind a big deodar trunk ; S., 

 taking up his 5oo-Express, knelt down with Lalla, 

 where some long grass concealed most of them ; and 

 there was an intense, strained silence. The distant 

 shouts were gradually coming nearer, and after some 

 time had elapsed, resolved themselves into noisy cries, 

 now louder, now fainter ; the tom-toms thumped as 

 with one voice and echoed again ; the rattle of sticks 

 became distinguishable. 



