rained by the Pohru, now quite a small and insignificant
stream.

Drogmulla, our objective, lies about fourteen miles from Harwan, and the
forest house is a full mile beyond the village, at the end of a somewhat
steep and winding path.

A welcome sight was the snug rest-house, perched upon a hillock above a
fussy little stream and surrounded by a fine clump of deodars.

A tiny lawn in front was decorated with an artificial tank full of
water-plants, and through the opening, among the trees, we saw the snowy
crest of Shambrywa and the Kaj-nag rising over the deeply-wooded foothills.

Drogmulla was so fascinating a spot, and the weather was so remarkably
fine, that we made up our minds to remain here for a few days. That old
red-bearded snake, the shikari, has sent the Colonel into a seventh heaven
of anticipation by pointing to the encircling forest with promise of
"pul-lenty baloo, sahib, this pul-lace." We straightway ordained a honk.

Our sick soldier is so much better since leaving Gulmarg that he is able
to hop "around" with considerable activity on his crutches.

_Saturday, September_ 30, 4 P.M.--Walter and I have been bear-honking all
day in a district reputed to be simply crawling with bears. I love
bear-honking; it is such a peaceful occupation.

After a stiff and very hot scramble up a rugged hillside covered with the
infuriating scrub through which nothing but a reptile could crawl easily,
the spot is reached within short range of which (in the opinion of the
"oldest inhabitant," backed up by the "Snake") the bear _must_ pass.

Here the battery of rifles and guns is carefully arranged, and I proceed
to wipe my heated brow and settle down to the calm enjoyment of the honk.
Drawing forth my cigar-case, I am soon wreathed in the fragrant clouds
engendered by the incineration of a halfpenny cheroot, and, with a sigh of
satisfaction, I spread out my writing or sketching materials and proceed
to scribble or paint, calm in the knowledge that nothing on earth is in
the least likely to disturb the flow of ideas, or interrupt the laying on
of a broad flat wash. Now and again, lazily, I lean back to watch the
witless hoverings of a big butterfly, or sleepily listen to the increasing
sound of the tom-toms and the yells of the beaters, whose voices, as those
of demons of the pit, rend the peaceful air and add to my sense of
Olympian aloofness!

A feeling of drowsiness steals over me; that succulent cold chikor,
fo