Horns 



acquaintance with chink. Well do I remember 

 the occasion. I had just come off a long tonga 

 journey, arriving at a dak bungalow about mid- 

 day. A tub and breakfast was what I had in my 

 mind's eye. The dak bungalow Khansammah, 

 however, who had but one wretched murghi in 

 the place, as I subsequently discovered, had another 

 programme in store for me. 



' Has the Protector of the Poor got a rifle with 

 him ? ' he inquired. ' Yes, he has,' was the answer ; 

 a rifle which, according to the orderly, had killed 

 every known animal, from the shaitan of a man- 

 eating tiger to the gorgeous plumaged peacock (hit 

 by the luckiest of flukes). 



' Will the Sahib shoot a chink ? ' The Sahib 

 considered. Frizzling hot was it outside, and the 

 hot wind was just commencing to blow. In- 

 vitingly cool was it in the darkened, even if very 

 dirty, dak bungalow ; but the temptation to see, 

 if not shoot, a chink proved too strong, and we 

 sallied forth. 



Phew ! it was hot as we plodded across the 

 sandy plain towards a small depression with a 

 low sand-hill this side of it, where my guide, 

 one of the dirty kbits or masalchis of the bungalow, 

 told me we should find the gazelle. 



I was ploughing my way through the sand, 

 sweeping the plain every now and then ahead 

 of me, when suddenly the man in front, with an 

 exclamation, stopped and pointed to my right. I 



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