439 
)ctober, 1921 
Range beyond range of majestic white mountains glistened in the morning sun 
We sat down and had a smoke, and 
iter a short rest strolled on again. The 
>ath led round the flank of a fine hill 
■ailed Budan, whose summit rose to 
)ver 8,000 feet altitude. 
Soon we came to a stream, spanned 
jy a rude log bridge, and shortly after- 
jvards arrived at the entrance of my 
i'riend’s hundred-acre tea-garden. A 
steep walk of a hundred feet, past ter- 
-aces of tea bushes, and a pretty bun- 
galow, red-roofed, came in sight in a 
sheltered hollow. The snow-peaks, old 
Trisul, nearer than ever, lay to the 
rorth, and Doonga, in the evening light, 
ooked as if it could be touched with a 
salmon rod. I had arrived at the best 
rime of year, both for climate and sport. 
Rain seldom falls in the district, between 
the first week of October and Christmas, 
though rain, sleet and snow may be ex- 
pected at intervals during January and 
February. 
November and December are the least 
busy months for planters, and I was de- 
lighted when my friend proposed taking 
me for a shikar trip, starting on Novem- 
ber ist; meanwhile there were several 
more days left of October, and I was at 
liberty to stroll about with gun or rifle 
: and, as my friend put it, “get my hill- 
legs.” 
The evenings and nights were keen 
and frosty and big log-fires were 
pleasant to sit by when the sunset-glow 
had left the snows. I took a great in- 
terest in examining my host’s shikar- 
trophies and listening to anecdotes he 
had about many of them. 
My friend’s spaniel, a young dog of 
the liver and white breed, soon got to 
know me, and on the third morning 
after my arrival showed me a number 
of game birds. “Rover” was a trifle 
wild, but retrieved tenderly, and after 
some misses the shikari had a brace of 
koklass pheasants, a woodcock, and a 
brace of kalij pheasants slung on my 
game-cord. I missed several shots at 
kalij in thick jungle, and while reload- 
ing my gun saw a fine buck kakur (bark- 
ing deer) pass within a few yards. The 
same evening a villager came to tell 
Blackmore that a leopard had just killed 
a cow in a ravine about a mile away. 
“The sahib will sit up for it,” said my 
friend, “and the sooner you start the 
better,” he added turning to me. “I will 
come with you.” 
The day before I had tried several 
rounds loaded with spherical balls from 
my gun and discovered I could make 
good up to fifty yards. We set off at 
once, and before dark arrived at the 
place where the dead cow was lying. 
I climbed into an oak tree, and the 
shikari accompanied me. A few light 
branches were cut and hung around so 
as to conceal us both, and then Black- 
more and the owner of the cow walked 
leisurely away, shouting. This seems to 
be an excellent dodge, as the leopard, 
hearing the shouts grow fainter and 
finally die away, imagines the coast is 
clear, and frequently approaches the 
kill within a few minutes. 
This happened now. We had not 
been a quarter of an hour in the tree, 
when the shikari gently touched me on 
the shoulder and whispered, “Bagh ata 
hai” (the leopard is coming). Some 
small birds in the vicinity were screech- 
ing shrilly, and not far off several 
monkeys chattered and swore. 
I was very excited and could feel my 
heart thumping wildly. The shikari 
touched me again, and pointed. I looked, 
but could see nothing, as the leopard was 
standing motionless in the gloom. 
Suddenly the big cat took a pace for- 
ward, and I saw it. Blackmore had 
cautioned me to be careful and not dis- 
turb a twig while lifting my gun, and 
this advice I remembered. I raised my 
gun, and aiming at the brute’s shoulder 
as he slowly passed, my front, I pressed 
the trigger. A succession of coughing 
roars followed, but the smoke hid every- 
thing, as my ball cartridges had been 
loaded with black powder. 
When the air cleared the leopard had 
vanished, and the shikari pointed down- 
hill. We climbed down from the tree 
and found blood in quantities. “Lugga, 
murgya” (he is hit, he is dead), ex- 
claimed the shikari with glee, and we 
followed the blood trail. About fifty 
yards down the ravine we found “Spots” 
lying dead. It was a large leopardess, 
which measured 6 feet io inches, as she 
lay, her skin in excellent condition and 
nicely marked. Blackmore now ap- 
peared and told the shikari to get an- 
other man and carry the leopardess to 
the bungalow. 
A FEW days later we made an early 
start to spend the day on Budan 
hill, and within a quarter of a mile of 
the bungalow I bagged a kakur buck 
with my friend’s single-barrel .360 Cord- 
ite rifle, an excellent weapon, having the 
power of the old .450 express and the 
trajectory of the .303. 
Further up the hill-side I obtained a 
right and left at mulliah (Himalayan 
wood pigeons, almost identical with our 
home birds) and brought down one, and 
Blackmore, who was a hundred yards or 
so above me bagged a brace of koklass. 
The latter are handsome, and gamely- 
marked birds, the prevailing colors be- 
ing grey and rich brown. They are 
nearly always found in pairs, cock and 
hen, and frequently three or four pairs 
are flushed in a small space. They get 
up their speed very quickly, and dash off 
downwards at a terrific pace. I missed 
six or seven shots at koklass before I 
bagged one. 
In thick jungle not far from a steep 
climb up to Budan I shot a pewra part- 
ridge, a very handsome, plump bird, that 
roosts in trees, and frequently flutters up 
into a tree when roused by a dog. 
We left the forest and came on to the 
steep slopes of Budan. There was a 
ravine where Blackmore had often shot 
monal — a grand species of Himalayan 
pheasant — and we approached it. very 
cautiously and waited quietly until two 
men had ascended another ravine, par- 
allel, worked round, and were ready to 
“brush” downwards. 
“Look out,” said Blackmore, as with 
a succession of shrill whistles a splendid 
cock monal and three hens rose and 
came sailing grandly overhead. I fired 
both barrels at the cock, which passed on 
unharmed, and my friend hit a hen hard 
with his right barrel and dropped her 
with his left. 
Further along the flank of the moun- 
tain we roused a covey of chukor (red- 
legged partridges) , and I was fortunate 
enough to kill a brace, right and left. 
“Now for breakfast,” cried my friend, 
and under a rhododendron tree, near the 
summit of Budan, we ate a hearty meal. 
Never did tea taste so good as when 
made with water from that mountain 
spring. We admired the splendid view, 
and Blackmore pointed out several places 
where he had shot tahr (a very fine spe- 
cies of goat), goral, and other mountain 
game. 
We lazed and talked till after three 
o'clock, when my friend ordered more 
tea. At four we separated, the shikari 
( Continued on page 476) 
