ainted partridge; then,
as we move cautiously through the jungle that skirts the foot of the
rocky range of hills, how the heart bounds when, stepping behind a
sheltering bush, we watch the noble stag coming leisurely up the
slope! How grand he looks!--with his proud carriage and shaggy,
massive neck, sauntering slowly up the rise, stopping now and then
to cull a berry, or to scratch his sides with his wide, sweeping
antlers, looming large and almost black through the morning mists,
which have deepened his dark brown hide, reminding one of Landseer's
picture of 'The Challenge.' Stalking sambar is by far the most
enjoyable and sportsmanlike way of killing them, but more are shot
in _battues_, or over water when they come down to drink. According
to native shikaris the sambar drinks only every third day, whereas
the nylgao drinks daily; and this tallies with my own experience--in
places where sambar were scarce I have found a better chance of
getting one over water when the footprints were about a couple of
days old. An exciting way of hunting this animal is practised by the
Bunjaras, or gipsies of Central India. They fairly run it to bay with
dogs, and then spear it. I have given in 'Seonee' a description of
the _modus operandi_.

When wounded or brought to bay the sambar is no ignoble foe; even
a female has an awkward way of rearing up and striking out with her
fore-feet. A large hind in my collection at Seonee once seriously
hurt the keeper in this manner.

Those who have read 'The Old Forest Ranger,' by Colonel Campbell,
have read in it one of the finest descriptions of the stalking of
this noble animal. I almost feel tempted to give it a place here;
but it must give way to an extract from a less widely known, though
as graphic a writer, "Hawkeye," whose letters to the _South of India
Observer_ deserve a wider circulation. I cannot find space for more
than a few paragraphs, but from them the reader may judge how
interesting the whole article is:--

"The hill-side we now are on rapidly falls towards the river below,
where it rushes over a precipice, forming a grand waterfall,
beautiful to behold. The hill-side is covered with a short, scrubby
rough-leafed plant, about a foot and a-half high. Bending low, we
circle round the shoulder of the slope, beyond the wood. The quick
eye of the stalker catches sight of a hind's ears, at the very spot
he hoped for. The stag must be nigh.

"Down on all-fours we move carefully