lk had suddenly changed his course,
and, instead of keeping down the hill, had struck off to his left along
the side of the mountain. Accordingly, off I started as hard as I
could go with several natives, who all agreed as to the direction.

After running for about a mile along the patinas in the line which I
judged the pack had taken, I heard one hound at bay in a narrow jungle
high up on my left. It was only the halt of an instant, for the next
moment I heard the same hound's voice evidently running on the other
side of the strip of jungle, and taking off down the mountain straight
for the dreaded river. Here was a day's work cut out as neatly as could
be.

Running toward the spot, I found the buck's track leading in that
direction, and I gave two or three view halloos at the top of my voice
to bring the rest of the pack down upon it. They were close at hand,
but the high wind had prevented me from hearing them, and away they
came from the jungle, rushing down upon the scent like a flock of
birds. I stepped of the track to let them pass as they swept by, and
"For-r-r-a-r-d to him! For-r--r-ard!" was the word the moment they had
passed, as I gave them a halloo down the hill. It was a bad look-out
for the elk now; every hound knew that his master was close up, and
they went like demons.

The "Tamby"[1] was the only man up, and he and I immediately followed in
chase down the precipitous patinas; running when we could, scrambling,
and sliding on our hams when it was too steep to stand, and keeping
good hold of the long tufts of grass, lest we should gain too great an
impetus and slide to the bottom.

After about half a mile passed in this manner, I heard the bay, and I
saw the buck far beneath, standing upon a level, grassy platform,
within three hundred yards of the river. The whole pack was around him
except the greyhounds, who were with me; but not a hound had a chance
with him, and he repeatedly charged in among them, and regularly drove
them before him, sending any single hound spinning whenever he came
within his range. But the pack quickly reunited, and always returned
with fresh vigor to the attack. There was a narrow, wooded ravine
between me and them, and, with caution and speed combined, I made
toward the spot down the precipitous mountain, followed by the
greyhounds "Bran" and "Lucifer."

I soon arrived on a level with the bay, and, plunging into the ravine,
I swung myself down from tree to tree,