to me, and not asking to intrude on me in any way beyond his own particular function. It is a selfish feeling in a way, no doubt, to feel that you and you alone are enjoying the woodland charm, and are to profit by the chances of the chase, but I plead guilty to it most completely, and enjoy my loneliness as an unmixed delight.

We followed a beaten track for a mile, and then plunged into the jungle, passing under magnificent teak-trees with their enormous leaves, then through vast clumps of bamboo and sandal-wood, and other, to me unknown forest plants. Nor was animal life wanting. Two spotted deer dashed across the glade in front of us. The large handsome Malabar squirrel flashed his golden coat in the branches over our head, and quaint birds of gorgeous plumage flitted across our path. A mile and a half of junglewalking, and we came to a stream whose muddy banks showed that the mighty elephant had often there quenched his thirst; and, oh joy! among the massive footprints Afsul pointed to a sharplycut print, more like that of a large deer than anything else, and whispered "Koolga" (bison).

We scrambled through the stream and up the slippery bank on the other side, and there track after track crossing each other in different directions, some fresh, some old, showed that bison had been recently haunting that part of the forest. Then the real business of the tracker began. Slowly pacing along, critically examining every track, now stooping to pick up a bruised leaf pressed into the soil by the weighty tread, now turning to look at a blade of the lofty grass or a twig of the jungle undergrowth, which had been bent or broken from its orig. inal direction, while I followed in

breathless expectation behind. No sound in the forest, but the distant hoot of the langur, and the mournful sigh of the breeze through the foliage overhead. At last, after much devious wandering, Afsul suddenly stops, and, taking up a morsel of broken leaf from the ground, calls the forest peon into consultation.

I wait amxiously for the verdict, which is solemnly given in a whisper, that several bison have been there within a few hours. We know that they cannot be distant, and we clear for action. I take the 12-bore and see that the cartridges are all right, while the peon takes the lighter rifle. On we go, no longer in desultory wandering, but following step by step the footsteps of the herd. Every jungle-sign is examined with redoubled care; no longer we walk unheeding from thicket to thicket, but a searching eye peers round every corner before we debouch from the shelter of each gigantic tree. The unshod foot of the native falls noiselessly as a feather on the ground, while I struggle vainly to pass over the débris of dried bamboo and withered teak leaves without waking the echoes at every pace. From time to time, when I make a louder crackle then usual, Afsul darts a look of remonstrance over his shoulder. I perspire profusely, in bracing every muscle in the attempt to emulate the snakelike movement of my guide, but certainly with only moderate success. I could not have believed before that one man could make so much noise. How I wished that—

"The light harebell would raise its

head

Elastic 'neath my airy tread.”

How long did this last? I believe not more than half an hour,

Suddenly what was that? Has anybody fired a pistol ahead of us? No, it must be a bison crashing through a giant bamboo. Afsul puts back his hand and presses me down, till he can be certain of the direction. A gleam of combat shoots over his face. Off come his red head-gear and his blanket, and are twisted tightly round his loins, his muscular shoulders showing in gleaming bronze in the afternoon sun. Then slowly, very slowly, he steals forward. The anxieties of the past are now nothing to the trepidation of the present. Again and again the crackling of bamboos-now like a pistol-shot, now like a crack of the great waggon-whip of South Africa. We worm our way along, following the moving herd, through muddy watercourse, through ruthless thorns, and over the most inexorable of rocks. Twenty minutes at least of mortal agony, when Afsul, quivering with excitement, turns and says, "Maro, maro!" (shoot, shoot!)

I try to pull myself together, and stare into what appears a vast confused mass of foliage. Afsul's patience is getting exhausted, and he points madly in a particular direction. I struggle to follow his eagle glance, and at last see a huge head glaring at me about fifty yards off,-the grey forehead of a bull, the slaty eye, and the broad muzzle thrown forward in the true fashion of the noble bison. Nothing to be seen of the body -nothing but a thickly intertwined mass of jungle herbage and branches. I knew enough of bison shooting theoretically to know that it is hopeless to fire at the head, where the vital parts are protected by an almost im

could see some huge backs plunging through the distant jungle, and where the old bull was nothing.

How I abused myself mentally as a duffer; how, as I mopped my streaming brow, I felt that tears would better become me than perspiration, need not be told. Still, a gleam of hope shone on me. Afsul was questing about on the track that the bison had followed, and I saw him pounce on a broken leaf, with the comforting word "blood." There it was, unmistakably, a tiny drop of fresh blood, so tiny that none but the hawk eye of the forest man could have distinguished it. Then began a weary but exciting pursuit, which lasted till the sun was dropping over the lowest trees of the forest. Here a gout of gore seemed to promise that a severe wound had been inflicted. Then for a long distance nothing guided us but a fresh hoof-print, a broken stem, or a jungle leaf stained with the tell-tale red spot. Once or twice we heard a movement ahead. Nor was our path an easy one-for the most part through elephant-grass nine or ten feet high, whose sturdy stems and broad leaves were no contemptible obstacle. The wonder of it was that a herd of seven or eight huge animals should have passed before us, through grass, bush, and foliage, and hardly left a trace behind,-few traces, at least, that could be detected by any eye not

trained from childhood in forest signs. At last, as we arrived on the crest of a small hill, we saw HIM, not more than 150 yards distant, in all his noble proportions in the valley beneath. Only a momentary glimpse. With a snort of contempt he plunged again into obscurity, followed by a vain and harmless snap-shot. It was now nearly dark. Afsul said that further chase was useless, as the bull was travelling well and strongly, leaping over the broken down trees instead of blundering through them. Reluctantly I made up my mind that my first essay had not been a success, and that I had better turn my steps homewards. This I did through the darkling forest, having at any rate the consoling thought that, in the shikarri's opinion, the bull was only slightly wounded, and would soon recover. Probably he had only been hit on his massive shoulder, and the bullet had glanced off the bone.

Serious was the council of war that evening as to the best plan of action for my few available days. Long and earnest was the consultation with the trusty Afsul over a camp-fire, after dinner and a soothing cigarette had softened the bitterness of the day's failure. Should we plunge deeper into the forest from our present quarters and look for other bison, which, the village herdsman said, were wandering near? Or should we leave our quarters altogether, move to a hut in a more central position, and recommence operations in an entirely new district? Finally we decided on the latter, and marching orders were issued for the following morning.

The forest hut that we were to make for was between five and six miles off. It was one of the few

that are put up for the use of the forest officials while the timber is being selected for felling; but as wood-cutting for the year had not yet commenced, it would be empty, and the neighbouring forest quite undisturbed. And here let me remark how advisable it is, when in a malarious jungle, to live in a hut, however rude, in preference to a tent; and if a tent must be used, that it should be a small thick one, instead of the large one of comparatively open material generally used in India.

Having seen my bullock-cart well on its way on an almost undistinguishable track on the following morning, I started myself with Abdul Rahman, the forest ranger, to walk by a shorter cut. Nothing can be more lovely than an early day in an Indian jungle

strolling along, pleased, mutually I trust, with our society, when we came to a streamlet crossing our path. My friend gave a start, and his cheery face grew long and serious. There at his foot was the footmark of a large tiger, only lately pressed into the mud-so lately, that the water all round it had not had time to ooze into the impression. A step or two further, and we came upon more most unmistakable signs of the tiger's recent presence, and we knew that he must then be in the wood within a few yards of us. I began to regret that I had only a walkingstick instead of a rifle; and Abdul quickened his pace, while glancing right and left at the thick bush all round us. However, I believe we had nothing to fear. I afterwards heard that the tiger was an old acquaintance-almost a confidential friend--of the district, and was probably only lurking near the village in hopes of picking up some stray cattle from the village herd-a toll which he no doubt considered his right. He probably knew the herdsmen by sight, and was not foolish enough to jeopardise his character for harmlessness by eating man—even an unwary stranger in the land-as long as bullocks were plentiful.

ground, a most necessary precaution for natives as much as for Europeans from the feverish malaria.

-

The fates were against me that afternoon, and it was not till the next day that I was able again to go on the war-path. We started between six and seven Afsul, the peon, and myself. As we dived into the forest-path, the night mists were rising slowly, and still hung on the tree tops. The long grass, soaked with moisture, almost met overhead, and made us carry the rifles with every precaution, to keep them at least dry, while the rising sun glimmered through the branches, and was greeted by the cheery crow of the jungle-cock. We had a walk of three or four miles, marking en route many tracks of chitul, sambur, bison, and elephant, but seeing nothing but one small barking deer, who stood provokingly close and stared at us, as if he knew that we dared not fire a shot, for fear of disturbing the mightier game.

We arrived at the forest lodge, a mud hut of one room, in the middle of a small clearing. A swampy stream trickled past within a few yards, and fed a clear burn that sparkled through the trees on the edge of the woodland. Everywhere the ground was stamped with the great tread of the wild elephants which had passed and repassed the clearing, careless of occasional human visitors. The hut itself, with its two or three subsidiary sheds, was built with the floor raised three feet off the

No tracks presented themselves sufficiently fresh to tempt a pursuit. After much devious search, we entered a little glade, where lay, half-buried by vegetation, an old rotten moss-grown trunk, an overthrown tree, which had once towered among the giants of the forest. Afsul's professional eye detected a solitary bee, issuing from a crevice to meet the warmth of the now glowing sun, and suddenly plunging his arm up to the shoulder into the recesses of the trunk, he pulled out a large handful of honeycomb, cooly brushing off a dozen bees, that stuck to him, and which seemed either to have forgotten to sting or to find the skin of the honey-collector proof against their weapons. While he was munching his comb and marking the

store with a view to a future visit, the peon and I passed ahead. There was a slight noise in the jungle, a little gentle crackle of branches. Afsul sprang from behind, clutched me by the shoulder, and, with a face full of excitement, hissed out " Koolga!" We moved stealthily on, Afsul parting the branches carefully to get a clearer view. A vast form showed indistinctly through the trees. The peon whispered "Anay" (elephant). But there was a sudden snort and a half whistling low, which could only come from a bison. Afsul dashed forward from one cover to another, dragging me with him. We saw the great beast moving slowly towards us, half hidden by the trees and bamboos. I tried to move to one side, as Afsul was rather in my way, when the bison turned to make off. I took a fairly careful shot, and (as we afterwards found) hit him behind the elbow. He moved on, however, and we followed warily, after I had reloaded. About 300 yards further on, we could just see him standing in the middle of thick jungle, and I fired both barrels deliberately where his great side loomed through the branches. This finished him, and we heard the crash as of the fall of a tower. "Profundit humi bos." Afsul clutched my hunting-knife, dropped blanket and headgear, rushed at the mighty fallen, sprang upon the heaving side, and seizing a horn, plunged the knife in his throat. What a moment of satisfaction! and yet not altogether unalloyed. Who could look at the corpse of the gallant slain without some feeling of remorse, however slight and fleeting, and regret that he would roam his forest solitudes, his home for many long years, no more. He was a grand solitary

bull (a "wantaga" in the jungle dialect), with horns ringed at the base from age, and battered and chipped at the points from fighting. He was measured carefully on the spot, by pulling his fore legs out straight and placing a stake in the ground at his feet and another at his shoulder, and passing a string fairly between them clear of his body. He measured just 6 feet in height, and from the point of the nose to the tip of the tail, 11 ft. 6 inches.

So much exertion deserved refreshment, which I took in biscuits and cold tea, just tempered from my pocket-flask, while my attendants squatted aside contentedly and chewed betel. I offered them each a dram, but Afsul, the Mussulman, declined, while the Hindoo peon took his down with the smack of satisfaction of a Highland gillie.

At length we roused ourselves, marked where our bison lay, and struck off in an untried direction, to see if the afternoon would emulate the morning's good fortune. We descended to a lower level, and got into yet thicker and darker jungle than we had hitherto traversed. I made my first acquaintance with the jungle-leech. I was aware of a small thread-like being, which had dropped from a leaf and was wriggling on the sleeve of my coat, vainly struggling to make his way through the strong linenanother on my wrist, which was pushed off with difficulty, leaving a drop of blood behind. This was most discomposing. I was prepared for the bison's charge and for any of the other legitimate chances of shikar, but I was not prepared for the attacks of these insinuating miscreants. There is something more than disagreeable in the abiding thought of tiny bloodsuckers, and fancied ticklings