jungle, attended by an old _jogi_ smeared with wood-ashes and streaked
with paint. Another goat was slain here. The beast was made to bow
comically three times before the hideous image in the shrine, and then
his throat was cut. Victory was now sure. The pious preliminaries
were finished, and then arrived at last the day of battle--the scenes
of which you never forget.

* * * * *

We are up and out at dawn, riding about the wide circle of the
tethered buffaloes. A delicate business, this. As we draw near the
first one, with infinite caution, we inspect the site through strong
binoculars. A flick of the ear, a whisk of the tail because of flies,
show that No. 1 is still alive. We water and feed the beast with fresh
grass, and then leave him. But our next place of call looks
suspicious, even from afar. A crow is cawing in a tree, and looks with
beady eyes below. Dark vulture-specks are wheeling in the blue. And
see! Tiger-marks in the dust, both square and oval! The dread couple
have been here--early in the night, evidently, for over their
"pug"-marks lies the trail of porcupines and other nocturnal beasts.
Sure enough, the big buffalo is gone, leaving only a broken rope-end,
a few splashes of blood, and the labored trail of a heavy body.
Strategy is ended now, and tactics begin.

We gallop back to camp and give the alarm. The huge battle-line is
ready. Long rows of giant tuskers stand with swaying heads, each with
his howdah beside him--towering brutes such as the old kings of Asia
rode into battle, to the terror of their enemies. The herds of
disdainful camels are kneeling in roaring protest against the camp
loads. From all quarters scouts have reported the enemy. Our army,