Horns 



and most bewildering of shades as the sun sinks to 

 the horizon. I know not which of these factors 

 is responsible, or whether it is a blending of them 

 all ; but the fascination is there, and once felt 

 calls to one ever afterwards. 



In the barren wild sandy plains of Baluchistan, 

 encircled and shut in by rugged and precipitous 

 hills and mountains, their crests cut up into a 

 thousand fantastic and bizarre shapes, one has 

 often paused in amazement at the almost incredi- 

 ble colouring taken on by rock and sand in the 

 early morning or late eVenijig light. Golden yellow 

 and brilliant crimson, vivid purple and bright 

 brown-blue, red and orange, all mingle together 

 in one chaotic riotous feast of colour, whilst 

 as the sun sinks lower the desert itself runs into 

 a sea of blood so startlingly and cruelly vivid as 

 to leave one paralysed at the thoughts it conjures. 

 The golden rim drops below the rocky crest and 

 the scene shuts down abruptly from an indescrib- 

 able undreamt-of mass of wild colouring to dark, 

 cold, forbidding greys and blues and blacks, with 

 a grey-white ribbon in the foreground, and night 

 is here. 



The tracks left by chink in the sand are easy 

 to recognize once they have been examined care- 

 fully. To my mind the only other animal they 

 might be confused with is the 4-horned antelope. 



Truly they are tantalizing little animals, these 

 gazelle, at times. 



