THE POETRY OF FOREST LIFE. — BISON SHOOTING. 183 



After ten miles of slow but teiTible jolting behind the meanest 

 pair of bullocks I ever saw, we reached the foot of the Teckadee 

 ghaut, a terribly- steep, rocky pass, and began the ascent. For three 

 boui's my boy and I worried with those coolies and bullocks, carry- 

 ing one pack after another, until we finally reached the top of the 

 pass and started for Moochpardi. Eecent rains had made the road 

 ver}' muddy, and the coolies and bullock-drivers grumbled and 

 complained unceasingly. At sunset, five miles of muddy road 

 through thick forest, and a swollen river, lay between us and our 

 camp. The man with the cow and calf, and the cooHes with my 

 outfit chest, I allowed to turn off at Teckadee for the night, but the 

 bullocks and their loads were obhged to go on. 



As we passed a large camp of timber-cai'tmen, I tried hard to 

 hire a cart to cany us to Moochpardi, or even a man to show us the 

 way ; but neither could I get for love or money. They would see 

 us get lost in the jungle and perish, too, for that matter, before they 

 would, of their own good will, stir a step to aid us. No one is 

 more cringing, fawning, and sendle than the Indian low caste native 

 when he is hungi-y, and no one is more arrogant, disobliging, and 

 inhuman when he is well-fed and housed. I am not ashamed to 

 say that I hate the " gentle Hindoo," and if you, my reader, ever 

 fall into his power, or have actual need of his good will, you will 

 soon say the same. 



And so we had to go on, and trust to luck to find the road. We 

 lit the lantern, and my new servant, acting as an advance guard 

 carried it and one of my guns ahead ; after him came the file of bul- 

 locks and coolies, while I carried a naked candle shielded by my 

 hat, and marched along as a rear guard. It was a tedious and toil- 

 some tramp through the mud and the black darkness, aU the time 

 harassed by the fear of a drenching storm and of missing the road. 

 "WTien we reached the river, we undressed and waded it, the men 

 carrying the packs on theii* heads — how chilly and swift the water 

 was ! — and kept on, until at about nine o'clock we dragged wearily 

 into our old camp at Moochpardi. 



My old gang was there, and hailed our arrival with delight, while 

 they proudly led me to the fine new bamboo hut they had erected 

 for me, at a total cost of pi-ecisely $2.50. And then I found once 

 more what a priceless jewel to the jungle traveller is a really good 

 servant. I had a new one whom I had picked up in Coimbatore in 

 this wise : I had determined to discharge the servant I had brought 

 down fi'om the hills, a clumsy, old, gray-haired man not fit for jungle 



