On the Indian Hills

was one rogue bison of whom many stories were told. He was known by having uneven horns, one tending upwards and the other downwards, and this made him particularly bad tempered, so that the coolies were in constant dread of meeting him.

One misty evening they were streaming home after the day's work, with their tools on their shoulders and a maistry in front, when they came to this ill-omened spot, and there, in front of them and rubbing his horns, was the great terror of the jungle, his huge black body completely blocking the path and keeping the coolies from their homes. The natives threw down their loads and hid themselves behind trees, the maistry behind the trunk which now bears a cross; but as the bison did not move, and seemed sulkily determined to stay in the path, he came forward after a few minutes, and, waving his turban, tried to frighten the beast away. It was a fatal attempt, for the animal suddenly roused itself, and, resenting this familiarity, gave a deep snort and charged the unfortunate man. He fled to the shelter of the tree, but just as he was getting behind the bison rushed upon him and dashed him heavily against the trunk. It is to be hoped that this rendered him insensible, for the coolies from their surrounding retreats saw the savage animal pound him against the stem of the tree and amongst the roots, till he bore no resemblance to the human form; and then the beast, with its forehead drenched with blood and shreds of torn clothing on its horns, turned and stalked away into the thickest of the jungle.

But the poor maistry was soon avenged. At that time R--- had as "cook boy" an old Madras shikarry, and the very next day the coolies brought him word that the same animal was standing under a clump of bamboo, just above what is now No. 3 clearing; so, borrowing the old long Snider -- a percussion gun which forms R---'s whole battery -- he loaded it with powder and two bullets, and then set out alone to interview the bison. He found him as the coolies had said, and, crawling for an hour and a half on his hands and knees, got close up to him. I believe that the bison brought his fate on himself by his sulky indifference to the presence of human beings as long as they did not molest him; for the shikarry seems to have crept within a dozen yards, when, resting the muzzle of the gun on a rock, he aimed at the broad heavy forehead of the bull, and when he pulled the trigger and the smoke cleared away, the bison was lying dead on the rocks. The company's agents at Calicut very properly gave him a reward of ten rupees for this plucky deed.