Antlers 



tree to tree, and orchids and delicate ferns cling to 

 stem and branch ; and down below, the forest floor 

 is hidden by the dense matted undergrowth of the 

 rains , in which disports itself, safe at this season from 

 our gaze and rifle, the four-footed Hfe of the forest. 



There is something about these wanderings on 

 an elephant at all seasons of the year, and es- 

 pecially of the shooting year, which sends a thrill 

 through one as the mind looks back at them. 



One sees the jungle with such a different eye 

 from the lofty perch, and learns to notice objects 

 and animal life which are quite lost to one whilst 

 on the ground. 



Animals, too, are seen at such a different per- 

 spective from the pad and appear so very and 

 surprisingly small in the tall grass jungle. 



As one sways slowly along, sitting, if on a pad, 

 up behind the mahout with legs straddled down 

 on either side, there is a rustle in the grass and 

 suddenly a herd of chitul go skipping away in 

 front, only their heads and backs and white scuts 

 appearing in the upper grass as they reach the 

 top of their bounds. Or a heavy rush proclaims 

 something larger, and ere the rifle is at the 

 shoulder a dark patch going at full tilt has ap- 

 peared and disappeared — a sambhar, frightened un- 

 fortunately and gone never to be seen again that 

 day. Farther on, a sudden chorus of grunts and 

 squeaks proclaims a sounder of pig and for a 

 moment the jungle appears alive with them, the 



9 



