Title: The Plant Hunters - Adventures Among the Himalaya Mountains
Author: Reid, Mayne, 1818-1883
Language: English
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The Plant Hunters, by Captain Mayne Reid.

The Plant Hunters--by Captain Mayne Reid



CHAPTER ONE.

THE PLANT-HUNTER.

"A Plant-Hunter! what is that?

"We have heard of fox-hunters, of deer-hunters, of bear and
buffalo-hunters, of lion-hunters, and of `boy-hunters;' of a
plant-hunter never.

"Stay!  Truffles are plants.  Dogs are used in finding them; and the
collector of these is termed a truffle-hunter.  Perhaps this is what the
Captain means?"

No, my boy reader.  Something very different from that.  My plant-hunter
is no fungus-digger.  His occupation is of a nobler kind than
contributing merely to the capricious palate of the gourmand.  To his
labours the whole civilised world is indebted--yourself among the rest.
Yes, you owe him gratitude for many a bright joy.  For the varied sheen
of your garden you are indebted to him.  The gorgeous dahlia that nods
over the flower-bed--the brilliant peony that sparkles on the parterre--
the lovely camelia that greets you in the greenhouse,--the kalmias, the
azaleas, the rhododendrons, the starry jessamines, the gerania, and a
thousand other floral beauties, are, one and all of them, the gifts of
the plant-hunter.  By his agency England--cold cloudy England--has
become a garden of flowers, more varied in species and brighter in bloom
than those that blossomed in the famed valley of Cashmere.  Many of the
noble trees that lend grace to our English landscape,--most of the
beautiful shrubs that adorn our villas, and gladden the prospect from
our cottage-windows, are the produce of his industry.  But for him, many
fruits, and vegetables, and roots, and berries, that garnish your table
at dinner and dessert, you might never have tasted.  But for him these
delicacies might never have reached your lips.  A good word, then, for
the plant-hunter!

And now, boy reader, in all seriousness I shall tell you what I mean by
a "plant-hunter."  I mean a person who devotes all his time and labour
to the collection of rare plants and flowers--in short, one who makes
this occupation his _profession_.  These are not simply "botanists"--
though botanical knowledge they must needs possess--but, rather, what
has hitherto been termed "botanical collectors."

Though these men may not stand high in the eyes of the scientific
world--though the closet-systematist may affect to underrate their
calling, I dare boldly affirm that the humblest of their class has done
more service to the human race than even the great Linnaeus himself.
They are, indeed, the botanists of true value, who have not only
imparted to us a knowledge of the world's vegetation, but have brought
its rarest forms before our very eyes--have placed its brightest flowers
under our very noses, as it were--flowers, that but for them had been
still "blushing unseen," and "wasting their sweetness on the desert
air."

My young reader, do not imagine that I have any desire to underrate the
merits of the scientific botanist.  No, nothing of the sort.  I am only
desirous of bringing into the foreground a class of men whose services
in my opinion the world has not yet sufficiently acknowledged--I mean
the botanical collectors--the _plant-hunters_.

It is just possible that you never dreamt of the existence of such a
profession or calling, and yet from the earliest historic times there
have been men who followed it.  There were plant-collectors in the days
of Pliny, who furnished the gardens of Herculaneum and Pompeii; there
were plant-collectors employed by the wealthy mandarins of China, by the
royal sybarites of Delhi and Cashmere, at a time when our semi-barbarous
ancestors were contented with the wild flowers of their native woods.
But even in England the calling of the plant-hunter is far from being
one of recent origin.  It dates as early as the discovery and
colonisation of America; and the names of the Tradescants, the Bartrams,
and the Catesbys--true plant-hunters--are among the most respected in
the botanical world.  To them we are indebted for our tulip-trees, our
magnolias, our maples, our robinias, our western _platanus_, and a host
of other noble trees, that already share the forest, and contest with
our native species, the right to our soil.

At no period of the world has the number of plant-hunters been so great
as at present.  Will you believe it, hundreds of men are engaged in this
noble and useful calling?  Among them may be found representatives of
all the nations of Europe--Germans in greatest number; but there are
Swedes and Russ as well, Danes and Britons, Frenchmen, Spaniards, and
Portuguese, Swiss and Italians.  They may be found pursuing their
avocation in every corner of the world--through the sequestered passes
of the Rocky Mountains, upon the pathless prairies, in the deep
barrancas of the Andes, amid the tangled forests of the Amazon and the
Orinoco, on the steppes of Siberia, in the glacier valleys of the
Himalaya--everywhere--everywhere amid wild and savage scenes, where the
untrodden and the unknown invite to fresh discoveries in the world of
vegetation.  Wandering on with eager eyes, scanning with scrutiny every
leaf and flower--toiling over hill and dale--climbing the steep cliff--
wading the dank morass or the rapid river--threading his path through
thorny thicket, through "chapparal" and "jungle"--sleeping in the open
air--hungering, thirsting, risking life amidst wild beasts, and wilder
men,--such are a few of the trials that chequer the life of the
plant-hunter.

From what motive, you will ask, do men choose to undergo such hardships
and dangers?

The motives are various.  Some are lured on by the pure love of
botanical science; others by a fondness for travel.  Still others are
the _employes_ of regal or noble patrons--of high-born botanical
amateurs.  Not a few are the emissaries of public gardens and
arboretums; and yet another few--perchance of humbler names and more
limited means, though not less zealous in their well-beloved calling,--
are collectors for the "nursery."

Yes; you will no doubt be astonished to hear that the plain "seedsman"
at the town end, who sells you your roots and bulbs and seedlings, keeps
in his pay a staff of plant-hunters--men of botanical skill, who
traverse the whole globe in search of new plants and flowers, that may
gratify the heart and gladden the eyes of the lovers of floral beauty.

Need I say that the lives of such men are fraught with adventures and
hair-breadth perils?  You shall judge for yourself when I have narrated
to you a few chapters from the experience of a young Bavarian
botanist,--Karl Linden--while engaged in a _plant-hunting_ expedition to
the Alps of India--the stupendous mountains of the Himalaya.



CHAPTER TWO.

KARL LINDEN.

Karl Linden was a native of Upper Bavaria, near the Tyrolese frontier.
Not high-born, for his father was a gardener; but, what is of more
importance in modern days, well brought up and well educated.  A
gardener's son may still be a gentleman; and so may a gardener himself,
for that matter, or he may not.  There are many senses to this
much-abused title.  It so happens, that young Linden was a gentleman in
the _true_ sense; that is, he was possessed of a feeling heart, a nice
sense of honesty and honour, and was, notwithstanding his humble
lineage, an educated and accomplished youth.  His father, the gardener,
was a man of ambitious spirit, though quite unlettered; and, having
himself often experienced the disadvantage of this condition, he
resolved that his son never should.

In most parts of Germany, education is considered a thing of value, and
is eagerly sought after.  It is provided liberally for all classes; and
the Germans, as a people, are perhaps the best educated in the world.
It is partly owing to this fact, and partly to their energetic industry,
that they exercise so great an influence in the affairs of the world; in
the arts and sciences, in music, painting, and the study of nature--
above all, in a knowledge of botany.  I cannot believe that the Germans
stand highest as an _intellectual_ race, but only as an _educated_
people.  What a pity I could not add, that they are a free people; but
in that their condition differs less from our own than we fondly
imagine.

At nineteen years of age, young Karl Linden did not consider them as
free as they deserved to be.  He was then a student in one of the
universities; and, naturally enough, had imbibed those principles of
patriotic liberty, that, in 1848, were stirring in the German heart.

He did more than advocate his faith by empty words.  Joined with his
college compatriots, he endeavoured to have it carried into practice;
and he was one of those brave students, who, in 1848, gave freedom to
Baden and Bavaria.

But the hydra league of crowned heads was too strong to be so easily
broken; and, among other youthful patriots, our hero was forced to flee
from his native land.

An exile in London--"a refugee," as it is termed--he scarce knew what to
do.  His parent was too poor to send him money for his support.
Besides, his father was not over well pleased with him.  The old man was
one of those who still clung to a belief in the divine right of kings,
and was contented with the "powers that be," no matter how tyrannical
they be.  He was angry with Karl, for having made a fool of himself by
turning patriot, or "rebel," as it pleases crowned monsters to term it.
He had intended him for better things; a secretary to some great noble,
a post in the Custom-house, or, may be, a commission in the bodyguard of
some petty tyrant.  Any of these would have fulfilled the ambitious
hopes of Karl's father.  The latter, therefore, was displeased with the
conduct of his son.  Karl had no hope from home, at least until the
anger of the old man should die out.

What was the young refugee to do?  He found English hospitality cold
enough.  He was free enough; that is, to wander the streets and beg.

Fortunately, he bethought him of a resource.  At intervals, during his
life, he had aided his father in the occupation of gardening.  He could
dig, plant, and sow.  He could prune trees, and propagate flowers to
perfection.  He understood the management of the greenhouse and
hothouse, the cold-pit and the forcing-pit; nay, more--he understood the
names and nature of most of the plants that are cultivated in European
countries; in other words, he was a botanist.  His early opportunities
in the garden of a great noble, where his father was superintendent, had
given him this knowledge; and, having a taste for the thing, he had made
botany a study.

If he could do no better, he might take a hand in a garden, or a
nursery, or some such place.  That would be better than wandering idly
about the streets of the metropolis, and half-starving in the midst of
its profuse plenty.

With such ideas in his mind, the young refugee presented himself at the
gate of one of the magnificent "nurseries," in which great London
abounds.  He told his story; he was employed.

It was not long before the intelligent and enterprising proprietor of
the establishment discovered the botanical knowledge of his German
_protege_.  He wanted just such a man.  He had "plant-hunters" in other
parts of the world; in North and South America, in Africa, in Australia.
He wanted a collector for India; he wanted to enrich his stock from the
flora of the Himalayas, just then coming into popular celebrity, on
account of the magnificent forms of vegetation discovered there, by the
great "plant-hunters" Boyle and Hooker.

The splendid pine-trees, arums, and screw-pines; the varied species of
bambusa, the grand magnolias and rhododendrons, which grow so profusely
in the Himalaya valleys, had been described, and many of them introduced
into European gardens.  These plants were therefore the rage; and,
consequently, the _desiderata_ of the nurseryman.

What rendered them still more interesting and valuable was, that many of
those beautiful exotics would bear the open air of high latitudes, on
account of the elevated region of their native habitat possessing a
similarity of temperature and climate to that of northern Europe.

More than one "botanical collector" was at this time despatched to
explore the chain of the Indian Alps, whose vast extent offered scope
enough for all.

Among the number of these plant-hunters, then, was our hero, Karl
Linden.



CHAPTER THREE.

CASPAR, OSSAROO, AND FRITZ.

An English ship carried the plant-hunter to Calcutta, and his own good
legs carried him to the foot of the Himalaya Mountains.  He might have
travelled there in many other ways--for perhaps in no country in the
world are there so many modes of travelling as in India.  Elephants,
camels, horses, asses, mules, ponies, buffaloes, oxen, zebus, yaks, and
men are all made use of to transport the traveller from place to place.
Even dogs, goats, and sheep, are trained as beasts of burden!

Had Karl Linden been a Government emissary, or the _employe_ of some
regal patron, he would very likely have travelled in grand style--either
upon an elephant in a sumptuous howdah, or in a palanquin with relays of
bearers, and a host of coolies to answer to his call.

As it was, he had no money to throw away in such a foolish manner.  It
was not _public_ money he was spending, but that of private enterprise,
and his means were necessarily limited.  He was not the less likely to
accomplish the object for which he had been sent out.  Many a vast and
pompous expedition has gone forth regardless either of expense or
waste--ay, many a one that has returned without having accomplished the
object intended.  "Too many cooks spoil the dinner," is a familiar old
adage, very applicable to exploring expeditions; and it is a question,
whether unaided individual enterprise has not effected more in the way
of scientific and geographical discovery, than has been done by the more
noisy demonstrations of governments.  At all events, it is certain
enough, that the exploring expeditions to which we are most indebted for
our geognostic knowledge are those that have been fitted out with the
greatest economy.  As an example, I may point to the tracing of the
northern coasts of America--which, after costing enormous sums of money,
and the lives of many brave men, has been done, after all, by the
Hudson's Bay Company with a simple boat's crew, and at an expense, that
would not have franked one of our grand Arctic exploring expeditions for
a week!

I might point to the economic mode by which the Americans are laying
open their whole continent--a _single_ officer having lately been sent
to descend the Amazon alone, and explore its extensive valley from the
Andes to the Atlantic.  This was performed, and a copious report
delivered to the American government and to the world at an expense of a
few hundred dollars; whereas an English exploration of similar
importance would have cost some thousands of pounds, with perhaps a much
scantier return, for the outlay.

As with the American explorer, so was it with our plant-hunter.  There
was no expensive equipment or crowd of idle attendants.  He reached the
Himalayas on foot, and on foot he had resolved to climb their vast
slopes and traverse their rugged valleys.

But Karl Linden was not alone.  Far from it.  He was in company with him
he held dearest of all others in the world--his only brother.  Yes, the
stout youth by his side is his brother Caspar, who had joined him in his
exile, and now shares the labours and perils of his expedition.  There
is no great difference between them in point of size, though Caspar is
two years the younger.  But Caspar's strength has not been wasted by too
much study.  He has never been penned up within the walls of a college
or a city; and, fresh from his native hills, his stout build and bright
ruddy cheek present a contrast to the thinner form and paler visage of
the student.

Their costumes are in keeping with their looks.  That of Karl exhibits
the sombre hue of the man of learning, while on his head he wears the
proscribed "Hecker hat."  Caspar's dress is of a more lively style, and
consists of a frock of Tyrolese green, a cap of the same colour, with
long projecting peak, over-alls of blue velveteen, and Blucher boots.

Both carry guns, with the usual accoutrements of sportsmen.  Caspar's
gun is a double-barrelled fowling-piece;--while that of Karl is a rifle
of the species known as a "Swiss yager."

A true hunter is Caspar, and although still but a boy, he has often
followed the chamois in its dizzy path among his native mountains.  Of
letters he knows little, for Caspar has not been much to school; but in
matters of hunter-craft he is well skilled.  A brave and cheerful youth
is Caspar--foot-free and untiring--and Karl could not have found in all
India a better assistant.

But there is still another individual in the train of the plant-hunter--
the guide, _Ossaroo_.  It would take pages to describe Ossaroo; and he
is worthy of a full description: but we shall leave him to be known by
his deeds.  Suffice it to say, that Ossaroo is a Hindoo of handsome
proportions, with his swarth complexion, large beautiful eyes, and
luxuriant black hair, which characterise his race.  He is by caste a
"shikarree," or hunter, and is not only so by hereditary descent, but he
is one of the noted "mighty hunters" in the province to which he
belongs.  Far and wide is his name known--for Ossaroo possesses, what is
somewhat rare among his indolent countrymen, an energy of mind, combined
with strength and activity of body, that would have given him
distinction anywhere; but among a people where such qualities are
extremely rare, Ossaroo is of course a hunter-hero--the Nimrod of his
district.

Ossaroo's costume and equipments differ entirely from those of his
fellow-travellers.  A white cotton tunic, and wide trousers, sandals, a
scarlet sash around the waist, a check shawl upon the head, a light
spear in the hand, a bamboo bow, a quiver of arrows on his back, a long
knife stuck behind the sash, a shoulder-belt sustaining a pouch, with
various trinket-like implements suspended over his breast.  Such is the
_coup d'oeil_ presented by the shikarree.

Ossaroo had never in his life climbed the mighty Himalayas.  He was a
native of the hot plains--a hunter of the jungles--but for all that the
botanist had engaged him for a _guide_.  It was not so much a guide to
enable them to find their route, as one who could assist them in their
daily duties, who knew the way of life peculiar to this part of the
world, who knew how to _keep house in, the open air_, Ossaroo was the
very man of all others.

Moreover the expedition was just to his mind.  He had long gazed upon
the gigantic Himalaya from the distant plains--he had looked upon its
domes and peaks glittering white in the robes of eternal snow, and had
often desired to make a hunting excursion thither.  But no good
opportunity had presented itself, although through all his life he had
lived within sight of those stupendous peaks.  He, therefore, joyfully
accepted the offer of the young botanist, and became "hunter and guide"
to the expedition.

There was still another of the hunter-race in that company--one as much
addicted to the chase as either Ossaroo or Caspar.  This was a quadruped
as tall as a mastiff dog, but whose black-and-tan colour and long
pendulous ears bespoke him of a different race--the race of the hound.
He was, in truth, a splendid hound, whose heavy jaws had ere now dragged
to the ground many a red stag, and many a wild Bavarian boar.  A dog to
be valued was Fritz, and highly did his master esteem him.  Caspar was
that master.  Caspar would not have exchanged Fritz for the choicest
elephant in all India.



CHAPTER FOUR.

IS IT BLOOD?

Behold the plant-hunter and his little party _en route_!

It was the same day on which they had engaged the guide Ossaroo, and
this was their first journey together.  Each carried his knapsack and
blanket strapped to his back--and as each was to be his own travelling
attendant, there was not much extra baggage.  Ossaroo was some paces in
the advance, and Karl and Caspar habitually walked side by side, where
the nature of the path would permit.  Fritz usually trotted along in the
rear, though he sometimes busked up to the side of the guide, as if by
instinct he recognised the born hunter.  Although the acquaintance was
but a short one, already had Fritz become a favourite with the
"shikarree."

As they trudged along, the attention of Caspar was drawn to some red
spots that appeared at intervals upon the path.  It was a smooth road,
and a very small object could be discerned upon it.  The spots had all
the appearance of blood-spots, as if quite freshly dropped!

"Blood it is," remarked Karl, who was also observing the spots.

"I wonder whether it's been a man or a beast," said Caspar, after an
interval.

"Well, brother," rejoined Karl, "I think it must have been a beast, and
a pretty large one too; I have been noticing it for more than a mile,
and the quantity of blood I've observed would have emptied the veins of
a giant.  I fancy it must have been an elephant that has been bleeding."

"But there's no trace of an elephant," replied Caspar; "at least no
tracks that are fresh; and this blood appears to be quite newly
spilled."

"You are right, Caspar," rejoined his brother.

"It cannot have been an elephant, nor a camel neither.  What may it have
been, I wonder?"

At this interrogatory both the boys directed their glances along the
road, in the direction in which they were going, hoping to discover some
explanation of the matter.  There was no object before them as far as
they could see except Ossaroo.  The Hindoo alone was upon the road.  The
blood could not be from him--surely not?  Such a loss of blood would
have killed the shikarree long ago.  So thought Karl and Caspar.

They had fixed their eyes, however, upon Ossaroo, and just at that
moment they saw him lean his head to one side, as though he had spat
upon the ground.  They marked the spot, and what was their astonishment
on coming up and discovering upon the road another red spot exactly like
those they had been noticing.  Beyond a doubt Ossaroo was spitting
blood!

To make sure, they watched him a little longer, and about a hundred
yards farther on they saw him repeat his red expectoration!

They became considerably alarmed for the life of their guide.

"Poor Ossaroo!" exclaimed they, "he cannot live much longer after the
loss of so much blood!"

And as this remark was made, both ran forward calling upon him to stop.

The guide wheeled round, and halted, wondering what was the matter.  He
quickly unslung his bow and placed an arrow to the string, fancying that
they were attacked by some enemy.  The hound, too, catching the alarm,
came scampering up, and was soon upon the ground.

"What's the matter, Ossaroo?" demanded Karl and Caspar in a breath.

"Matter, Sahibs! me knowee noting--matter."

"But what ails you? are you ill?"

"No, Sahibs! me not ill--why my lords askee?"

"But this blood?  See?"

They pointed to the red saliva on the road.

At this the shikarree burst out laughing, still further perplexing his
interrogators.  His laughter was not intended to be disrespectful to the
young "Sahibs," only that he was unable to restrain himself on
perceiving the mistake they had made.

"Pawnee, Sahibs," said he, drawing from his pouch a small roll like a
cartridge of tobacco-leaves, and taking a bite off the end of it, to
convince them that it was it--the "pawn"--which had imparted to his
saliva such a peculiar colour.

The boys at once comprehended the nature of their mistake.  The roll
shown them by Ossaroo was the celebrated _betel_; and Ossaroo himself
was a "betel-chewer," in common with many millions of his countrymen,
and still more millions of the natives of Assam, Burmah, Siam, China,
Cochin China, Malacca, the Philippine, and other islands of the great
Indian Archipelago.

Of course the boys were now curious to know what the betel was, and the
shikarree proceeded to give them full information about this curious
commodity.

The "betel," or "pawn" as it is called by the Hindoos, is a compound
substance, and its component parts are a leaf, a nut, and some
quicklime.  The leaf is taken from an evergreen shrub, which is
cultivated in India for this very purpose.  Ossaroo stated that it is
usually cultivated under a shed made of bamboos, and wattled all around
the sides to exclude the strong rays of the sun.  The plant requires
heat and a damp atmosphere, but exposure to the sun or dry winds would
wither it, and destroy the flavour and pungency of the leaf.  It
requires great care in the cultivation, and every day a man enters the
shed by a little door and carefully cleans the plants.  The shed where
it grows is usually a favourite lurking-place for poisonous snakes, and
this diurnal visit of the betel-grower to his crop is rather a dangerous
business; but the article is so profitable, and the mature crop yields
such a fine price, that both the labour and the danger are disregarded.
Ossaroo chanced to have some of the leaves in his pouch still in an
entire state.  He only knew them as "pawn-leaves," but the botanist at
once recognised a rare hothouse plant, belonging to the pepper tribe,
_Piperacea_.  It is in fact a species of _Piper_, the _Piper-betel_,
very closely allied to the climbing shrub which produces the common
black-pepper of commerce, and having deep green oval and sharply-pointed
leaves of very similar appearance to the leaves of the latter.  Another
species called _Piper siriboa_ is also cultivated for the same purpose.
So much for one of the component parts of this singular Oriental "quid."

"Now," continued Ossaroo, facing to one side of the path and pointing
upwards, "if Sahibs lookee up, dey see de pawn-nut."

The boys looked as directed, and beheld with interest a grove of noble
palms, each of them rising to the height of fifty feet, with a smooth
cylindrical shank, and a beautiful tuft of pinnated leaves at the top.
These leaves were full two yards in breadth, by several in length.  Even
the pinnae, or leaflets, were each over a yard long.  Just below where
the leaves grew out from the stem, a large bunch of nuts of a reddish
orange colour, and each as big as a hen's egg, hung downward.  These
were the famous _betel-nuts_, so long recorded in the books of Oriental
travellers.  Karl recognised the tree as the _Areca catechu_, or
betel-nut palm--by many considered the most beautiful palm of India.

Of the same genus _Areca_ there are two other known species, one also a
native of India, the other an American palm, and even a still more
celebrated tree than the betel-nut, for it is no other than the great
"cabbage-palm" of the West Indies (_Areca oleracea_).  This last tree
grows to the height of two hundred feet, with a trunk only seven inches
in diameter!  This beautiful shaft is often cut down for the sake of the
young heart-leaves near the top, that when dressed are eaten as a
substitute for cabbage.

Ossaroo showed his young masters how the betel was prepared for chewing.
The leaves of the betel pepper are first spread out.  Upon these a
layer of lime is placed, moistened so as to keep it in its place.  The
betel-nut is then cut into very thin slices, and laid on top; and the
whole is rolled up like a cheroot, and deposited with other similar
rolls in a neat case of bamboo--to be taken out whenever required for
chewing.

The nut is not eatable alone.  Its flavour is too pungent, and too
highly astringent on account of the tannin it contains; but along with
the pepper-leaf and the lime, it becomes milder and more pleasant.
Withal, it is too acrid for a European palate, and produces intoxication
in those not used to it.  An old betel-eater like Ossaroo does not feel
these effects, and would smile at the idea of getting "tipsy" upon pawn.

A singular peculiarity of the betel-nut is that of its staining the
saliva of a deep red colour, so as to resemble blood.  Ossaroo, who
possessed a large share of intelligence, and who had travelled to the
great city of Calcutta and other parts of India, narrated a good
anecdote connected with this fact.  The substance of his relation was as
follows:--

A young doctor, fresh from Europe and from the university, had arrived
in one of the Indian cities in a big ship.  The morning after his
arrival he was walking out on the public road near the suburbs, when he
chanced to meet a young native girl who appeared to be spitting blood.
The doctor turned and followed the girl, who continued to spit blood at
nearly every step she took!  He became alarmed, thinking the poor girl
could not live another hour, and following her home to her house,
announced to her parents who he was, and assured them that, from the
symptoms he had observed, their daughter had not many minutes to live!
Her parents in their turn grew alarmed, as also did the girl herself--
for the skill of a great Sahib doctor was not to be doubted.  The priest
was sent for, but before he could arrive the young girl _actually died_.

Now it was from _fear_ that the poor girl had died, and it was the
doctor who had _frightened_ her to death! but neither parents, nor
priest, nor the doctor himself, knew this at the time.  The doctor still
believed the girl had died of blood-spitting, and the others remained in
ignorance that it was upon this he had founded his prognosis.

The report of such a skilful physician soon spread abroad.  Patients
flocked to him, and he was in a fair way of rapidly accumulating a
fortune.  But ere long he had observed other people with symptoms of the
same complaint which had caused the death of the poor girl, and had
learnt also that these symptoms proceeded from chewing the betel-nut.
Had he been discreet he would have kept his secret to himself; but,
unluckily for his good fortune he was a talker, and could not help
telling his companions the whole affair.  He related it rather as a good
joke--for, sad to say, the life of a poor native is held but too lightly
by Europeans.

In the end, however, it proved no joke to the doctor.  The parents of
the girl came to understand the matter, as well as the public at large,
and vengeance was vowed against him by the friends of the deceased.  His
patients deserted him as rapidly as they had come; and to get rid of the
scandal, as well as to get out of the danger that surrounded him, he was
but too glad to take passage home in the same ship that had brought him
out.



CHAPTER FIVE.

THE FISHING-BIRDS.

Our travellers were following up one of the tributaries of the
Burrampooter, which, rising in the Himalayas, and running southward
joins the latter near its great bend.  The plant-hunter designed to
penetrate the Bholan Himalaya, because it had not yet been visited by
any botanist, and its flora was reported to be very rich and varied.
They were still passing through a settled part of the country, where
fields of rice and sugar-cane, with groves of bananas, and various
species of palm, were cultivated; some of the latter, as the cocoa-palm
and betel, for their nuts, while others, as the large-leaved _Caryota_,
for the wine which they produce.

The opium-poppy was also seen in cultivation, and mango-trees, and the
great broad-leaved pawpaw, and black-pepper vines, with beautiful green
leaves, trained against the stems of the palms.  Jack-trees with their
gigantic fruit, and figs, and nettle-trees, and the singular
screw-pines, and euphorbias, and various species of the orange, were
observed along the way.

The botanist saw many trees and plants, which he recognised as belonging
to the Chinese flora, and he could not help remarking many other things
that reminded him of what he had read about China.  In fact, this part
of India--for he was very near the borders of Assam--bears a
considerable resemblance to China, in its natural productions, and even
the customs of the people assimilate somewhat to those of the Celestial
land.  To make the resemblance more complete, the cultivation of the
tea-plant has been introduced into this part of the world, and is now
carried on with success.

But as our travellers proceeded, they became witnesses of a scene which
brought China more vividly, before their minds than anything they had
yet observed.

On rounding a clump of trees they came in view of a moderate-sized lake.
On the water, near the edge of this lake, they perceived a man in a
small light boat.  He was standing up, and held in his hands a long
slender pole, with which he was poling the boat out towards the centre
of the lake.

Our travellers, Ossaroo excepted, uttered exclamations of surprise, and
came at once to a halt.

What had caused them such astonishment?  Not the boat, nor the man in
it, nor yet the long bamboo pole.  No.  Such were common objects seen
every day on their journey.  It was none of these that had brought them
to so sudden a stop, and caused them to stand wondering.  It was the
fact that along both sides of the boat--on the very edge or gunwale--was
a row of large birds as big as geese.  They were white-throated,
white-breasted birds, mottled over the wings and back with dark brown,
and having long crooked necks, large yellow bills, and broad tails
rounded at the tips.

Although the man was standing up in his boat, and working his long pole
over their heads, now on one side, then on the other, the birds appeared
so tame that they did not heed his manoeuvres; and yet not one of them
seemed to be fastened, but merely perched upon the edge of the skiff!
Now and then one would stretch its long neck over the water, turn its
head a little to one side, and then draw it in again, and resume its
former attitude.  Such tame birds had never been seen.  No wonder the
sight astonished the Bavarian boys.  Both turned to Ossaroo for an
explanation, who gave it by simply nodding towards the lake, and
uttering the words--

"He go fishee."

"Ah! a fisherman!" rejoined the botanist.

"Yes, Sahib--you watchee, you see."

This was explanation enough.  The boys now remembered having read of the
Chinese mode of fishing with cormorants; and even at the distance at
which they saw them, they could perceive that the birds on the boat were
no other than cormorants.  They were the species known as _Phalacrocorax
Sinensis_; and although differing somewhat from the common cormorant,
they possessed all the characteristic marks of the tribe,--the long flat
body, the projecting breastbone, the beak curving downward at the tip,
and the broad rounded tail.

Desirous of witnessing the birds at work, our travellers remained
stationary near the shore of the lake.  It was evident the fisherman had
not yet commenced operations, and was only proceeding towards his
ground.

After a short while he reached the centre of the lake; and then, laying
aside his long bamboo, he turned his attention to the birds.  He was
heard giving them directions--just as a sportsman might do to his
pointer or spaniel--and the next moment the great birds spread their
shadowy wings, rose up from the edge of the boat, and after a short
flight, one and all of them were seen plunging into the water.

Now our travellers beheld a singular scene.  Here a bird was observed
swimming along, with its keen eye scanning the crystal below--there the
broad tail of another stood vertically upwards, the rest of its body
hidden below the surface--yonder, a third was altogether submerged, the
ripple alone showing where it had gone down--a fourth was seen
struggling with a large fish that glittered in its pincer-like beak--a
fifth had already risen with its scaly prey, and was bearing it to the
boat; and thus the twelve birds were all actively engaged in the
singular occupation to which they had been trained.  The lake, that but
the moment before lay tranquil and smooth as glass, was now covered with
ripples, with circling eddies, with bubbles and foam, where the huge
birds darted and plunged, and flapped about after their finny prey.  It
was in vain the fish endeavoured to escape them--for the cormorant can
glide rapidly through the water, and swim beneath with as much rapidity
as upon the surface.  Its keel-like breastbone cuts the liquid element
like an arrow, and with its strong wings for paddles, and its broad tail
acting as a rudder, the bird is able to turn sharply round, or shoot
forward with incredible rapidity.

A singular circumstance came under the observation of our travellers.
When one of the birds had succeeded in bringing up a fish, which was
larger than common, and too large for its captor to convey to the boat,
several others might be seen rushing forward, to render assistance in
carrying the fish aboard!

You will wonder that these creatures--whose food is the very prey they
were capturing for their master--did not swallow some of the fish they
were taking.  In the case of the younger birds, and those not fully
trained, such little thefts do occasionally occur.  But in such cases
the fisherman adopts a preventive precaution, by fastening a collar
round the necks of the birds--taking care that it shall not descend to
the thick part of the throat, where it might choke them.  With
well-trained old birds this precaution is unnecessary.  No matter how
hungry the latter may be, they bring all they "take" to their master,
and are rewarded for their honesty by the smaller and more worthless
fish that may have been caught.

Sometimes a bird becomes lazy, and sits upon the water without
attempting to do his duty.  In such cases, the fisherman approaches with
his boat, stretches forward his bamboo, strikes with violence close to
where the indolent individual is seated, and scolds him for his
laziness.  This treatment seldom fails in its effect; and the winged
fisher, once more roused by the well-known voice of its master, goes to
work with renewed energy.

For several hours this fishing scene is kept up, until the birds,
becoming tired, are allowed to return and perch themselves on the boat;
where their throat-straps are removed, and they are fed and caressed by
their master.

Our travellers did not wait for this finale, but kept on their route;
while Karl related to Caspar how that, not a great while ago, so late as
the time of King Charles the First, the common cormorant of Europe was
trained to fish in the same way in several European countries, and
especially in Holland; and that, at the present day, in some parts of
China, this mode of fishing is followed to so great an extent, that the
markets of some of the largest cities are supplied with fish caught
altogether by cormorants.

Certainly, no people exhibit more ingenuity in the training either of
plants or animals, than do these same _oblique-eyed inhabitants_ of the
Celestial Empire.



CHAPTER SIX.

THE TERAI.

In approaching any great chain of mountains from the sea-level, you will
find a large tract of country consisting of elevated hills and deep
ravines, intersected by rapid streams and torrents.  This tract is more
or less broad, in proportion to the grandeur of the mountain chain; and,
in the case of mountains of the first class, it is usually from twenty
to fifty miles in breadth.  Such a tract of country lies along both
sides of the great chain of the Andes in South and North America, and
also marks the approach to the Rocky Mountains and the Alleghanies.  It
is well-known in Italy, under the Alps; and "Piedmont" is the French
appellation for this sort of country, which is designated, in our
language, by an equally appropriate phrase, "foot-hills."

The "Alps of India" are not without this geological peculiarity.  Along
their whole southern flank, facing the hills of Hindustan, extends a
belt of foot-hills, often above fifty miles in breadth; and
characterised by steep ascents, deep dales and ravines, rapid foaming
torrents, difficult paths and passes, and, consequently, by wild and
picturesque scenery.

The lower part of this belt--that is, the portion which lies contiguous
to the Lot plains, is known to Europeans as the "Terai."

The Terai is an irregular strip, of from ten to thirty miles in width,
and extends along the whole base of the Himalayas, from the Sutledge
River, on the west, to Upper Assam.  Its character is peculiar.  It
differs both from the plains of India and from the Himalaya Mountains,
possessing a botany and zoology almost totally distinct from either.  It
differs from both, in the malarious and unhealthy character of its
climate, which is one of the deadliest in the world.  In consequence of
this, the Terai is almost uninhabited; the few scattered settlements of
half-savage Mechs, its only inhabitants, lying remote and distant from
each other.

Most of the Terai is covered with forest and thick jungle; and,
notwithstanding its unhealthy climate, it is the favourite haunt of the
wild beasts peculiar to this part of the globe.  The tiger, the Indian
lion, the panther and leopard, the cheetah, and various other large
_Jelidae_, roam through its jungly coverts; the wild elephant, the
rhinoceros, and gyal, are found in its forests; and the sambur and axis
browse on its grassy glades.  Venomous snakes, hideous lizards, and
bats, with the most beautiful of birds and butterflies, all find a home
in the Terai.

Several days' marching carried our travellers beyond the more settled
portions of the country, and within the borders of this wild,
jungle-covered district.  On the day they entered the Terai, they had
made an early start of it; and, therefore, arrived at their
camping-ground some hours before sunset.  But the young botanist, filled
with admiration at the many singular and novel forms of vegetation he
saw around him, resolved to remain upon the ground for several days.

Our travellers had no tent.  Such an incumbrance would have been
troublesome to them, travelling, as they were, afoot.  Indeed, all three
had their full loads to carry, as much as they could well manage,
without the additional weight of a tent.  Each had his blanket, and
various other _impedimenta_; but one and all of them had often slept
without roof or canvas, and they could do so again.

At their present halting-place, they had no need for either.  Nature had
provided them with a cover quite equal to a canvas-tent.  They had
encamped under a canopy of thick foliage, the foliage of the _banyan_
tree.

Young reader, you have heard of the great banyan of India; that
wonderful tree, whose branches, after spreading out from the main trunk,
send down roots to the earth, and form fresh stems, until a space of
ground is covered with a single tree, under whose shade a whole regiment
of cavalry may bivouac, or a great public meeting be held!  No doubt,
you have read of such a tree, and have seen pictures of one?  I need
not, therefore, describe the banyan very particularly.  Let me say,
however, that it is a fig-tree; not the one that produces the eatable
fig, of which you are so very fond, but another species of the same
genus--the genus _Ficus_.  Now, of this genus there are a great many
species; as many, perhaps, as there are of any other genus of trees.
Some of them are only creeping and climbing plants; adhering to rocks
and the trunks of other trees, like vines or ivy.  Others, like the
banyan, are among the largest trees of the forest.  They are chiefly
confined to tropical countries, or hot regions lying on the borders of
the tropics; and they are found in both hemispheres, that is, both in
America and the Old World.  Some splendid species belong also to
Australia.  All of them possess, more or less, the singular habit of
throwing out roots from their branches, and forming new stems, like the
banyan; and frequently they embrace other trees in such a manner, as to
hide the trunks of the latter completely from view!

This curious spectacle was witnessed by our travellers where they had
encamped.  The banyan which they had chosen as their shelter was not one
of the largest--being only a young tree, but out of its top rose the
huge fan-shaped leaves of a palm-tree of the kind known as the palmyra
palm (_Borassus flagelliformis_).  No trunk of the palm-tree was
visible; and had not Karl Linden been a botanist, and known something of
the singular habit of the banyan, he would have been puzzled to account
for this odd combination.  Above spread the long radiating fronds of the
palmyra directly out of the top of the trunk of the fig, and looking so
distinct from the foliage of the latter as to form a very curious sight.
The leaves of the banyan being ovate, and somewhat cordate or
heart-shaped, of course presented quite a contrast to the large stiff
fronds of the palmyra.

Now the puzzle was, how the palm got there.  Naturally one would suppose
that a seed of the palm had been deposited on the top of the banyan, and
had there germinated and thrown out its fronds.

But how did the palm seed get to the top of the fig?  Was it planted by
the hand of man? or carried thither by a bird?  It could not well have
been by the latter mode--since the fruit of the palmyra is as large as a
child's head, and each one of the three seeds it contains as big as a
goose's egg!!  No bird would be likely to carry about such a bulky thing
as that.  If there were only one palm-tree growing from the top of one
banyan, it might be conjectured that some one had so planted it; but
there are many such combinations of these trees met with in the forests
of India, and also in districts entirely uninhabited.  How then was this
union of the two trees to be accounted for?

Of our three travellers Caspar alone was puzzled.  Not so Karl and
Ossaroo.  Both were able to explain the matter, and Karl proceeded to
offer the elucidation.

"The fact is," said the botanist, "that the palm has not grown out of
the fig, but _vice versa_.  The banyan is the true parasite.  A bird--
wood-pigeon, or minobird, or tree-pheasant perhaps--has carried the
berries of the fig-tree, and deposited them in the axil of the palmyra.
This the smallest birds may easily do, since the fruit of the banyan is
not larger than a diminutive cherry.  Once in its place the seed has
germinated, and sent its roots downward along the trunk of the palm
until they have reached the ground.  These roots have then flattened
around the stem of the palm, until they have enveloped it completely,
with the exception of the top, as you see.  Afterwards the fig has
thrown out lateral branches, until the whole has assumed the appearance
of a banyan-tree with a fan-palm growing out of its trunk!"

This was the true explanation.  Ossaroo added some remarks stating that
the Hindoo people always regard such a union of the two trees with great
veneration, and believe it to be a holy marriage instituted by
Providence.  For himself, Ossaroo--not being a very strict sectarian,
nor much given to religion in any form, laughed at the superstition, and
called it "humbug."



CHAPTER SEVEN.

TAPPING THE PALMYRA.

Almost the first thing done by Ossaroo after he had got relieved of his
baggage was to climb the banyan.  This he was able to do with ease, as
the trunk, in consequence of the peculiar mode of its growth, was full
of ridges and inequalities, and moreover Ossaroo could climb like a cat.

But what wanted he up the tree?  Was he after the fruit?  It could not
be that, for the figs were not yet ripe, and even had they been quite
mellow, they are but poor eating.  Maybe he was going up for the nuts of
the palmyra?  No--it could not be that either, for these were not
shaped.  The great flower-spathe had not yet opened, and was only
beginning to burst its green envelopes.  Had the nuts been formed, and
still in their young state, they would have afforded delicate eating.
As already stated, the palmyra nuts grow to the size of a child's head.
They are three-cornered, rounded off at the corners, consisting of a
thick succulent yellowish rind, each containing three seeds as large as
goose-eggs.  It is the seeds that are eaten when young and pulpy; but if
allowed to ripen, they become quite hard and blue-coloured, and are then
insipid and uneatable.  But it could not be the seed either which
Ossaroo was after, since there were no seeds, nor nuts--only the flower,
and that still hidden in its great spadix.

The boys watched Ossaroo narrowly.  He had carried up with him a
bamboo-joint which he had cut from a very thick cane.  It was open at
one end, and formed a vessel that would hold rather more than a quart.
Another thing they had observed him to take with him; and that was a
stone about as big as a paving-stone.  Still another implement he
carried up the tree--his long knife.

In a few seconds the shikarree had reached the top of the banyan; and
clutching the great leaf-stalks of the palm, he climbed up among its
huge fronds.  Here he was observed to lay hold of the spathe of the
flower, and bending it against the trunk, he commenced hammering away
with the stone, evidently with the intention of crushing the young
inflorescence.  With a few blows he succeeded in doing this effectually.
He then drew the knife from his scarf, and, with an adroit cut,
detached the upper half of the flower-spike, which fell neglected to the
ground.

The bamboo vessel was next brought into service.  This he fixed on the
spathe in such a manner that the incised end remained inside the hollow
of the cane.  Both flower-spike and cane were then tied to one of the
leaf-stalks of the palm, so that the bamboo hung vertically bottom
downward; and this arrangement having been completed, the shikarree
flung down his hammering stone, replaced his knife under his belt, and
defended from the tree.

"Now, Sahibs," said he, as soon as he had reached terra firma, "you
waitee hour--you drinkee Indoo champagne."

In an hour or so his promise was fulfilled.  The bamboo-joint was
released and brought down; and, sure enough, it was found to be full of
a cool clear liquor, of which all of them drank, esteeming it equal to
the best champagne.  In fact, there is no more seducing and delicious
drink in all India than the sap of the palmyra palm; but it is also very
intoxicating, and is used too freely by the natives of the country where
this splendid tree flourishes.

Sugar can also be manufactured from this sap, simply by boiling it down.
When sugar is to be made, the tree is tapped in a similar manner; but
it is necessary to have a little lime in the vessel while collecting the
liquid, else it would ferment, and thus spoil it for sugar-boiling.

The reason why Ossaroo was so ready in tapping this particular _tree_,
was because the banyan which enveloped its trunk offered him an
excellent means of getting at it.  Otherwise it would have been no easy
matter to have ascended the smooth slender shaft of a palmyra, rising
thirty or forty feet without knot or branch.  Of course Ossaroo, as soon
as the bamboo was empty, once more climbed up and readjusted it to the
"tap," knowing that the sap would continue to run.  This it does for
many days, only that each day it is necessary to cut a fresh slice from
the top of the flower-stalk, so as to keep the pores open and free.

Though the day had been hot, as soon as twilight came on the coolness of
the air rendered it necessary for our travellers to kindle a fire.
Ossaroo was not long in striking a light out of his tinder-box, and
having set fire to some dry leaves and moss, a blaze was soon produced.
Meanwhile Karl and Caspar had broken some branches from a dead tree that
lay near the spot, and carrying them up in armfuls, piled them upon the
burning leaves.  A roaring fire was created in a few minutes, and around
this the party seated themselves, and commenced cooking their supper of
rice, with some pieces of dried meat, which they had brought along from
the last village.

Whilst engaged in this occupation, so agreeable to men who are hungry,
the botanist, whose eye was always on the alert for matters relating to
his favourite calling, remarked that the wood out of which their fire
had been made burned very much like oak.  On taking up one of the
fagots, and cutting it with his knife, he was astonished to find that it
_was_ oak in reality--for there is no mistaking the grain and fibre of
this giant of the northern forests.  What astonished him was the
existence of oak-trees in a country where the flora was altogether
tropical.  He knew that he might expect to find representatives of the
oak family upon the sides of the Himalayas; but he was still only at
their foot, and in the region of the palms and bananas.

Karl knew not then, nor is it yet generally known, that many species of
oaks are tropical trees--in fact, many kinds may be found in the torrid
zone, growing even as low as the level of the sea.  It is no less
strange, that although there are no oaks in tropical South America and
Africa, in Ceylon, or even in the peninsula of India itself, yet there
are numerous species in East Bengal, the Moluccas, and the Indian
islands--perhaps a greater number of species than grows in any other
part of the world!

The sight of this old acquaintance, as they termed the oak, had a
cheering effect upon the Bavarian boys; and after supper they sat
conversing upon the subject, determined as soon as it was day to look
out for some of the living trees as further confirmation of the strange
fact they had observed.

They were about thinking of wrapping themselves up in their blankets,
and retiring to rest, when an incident occurred that kept them awake for
another hour or two.



CHAPTER EIGHT.

THE SAMBUR STAG.

"See!" cried Caspar, who was more sharp-eyed than Karl.

"Look! look yonder! two lights, I declare!"

"Indeed, yes," replied Karl; "I see them--bright round lights!  What can
they be?"

"An animal!" answered Caspar; "I can affirm that much.  Some wild beast,
I fancy!"

They regarded the strange object with some uneasiness, for they knew
they were in the haunts of dangerous wild beasts.

"Maybe a tiger?" suggested Karl.

"Or a panther?" added his brother.

"I hope neither one nor the other," said Karl.

He was interrupted by Ossaroo, who had now observed the shining spots,
and who with a single word reassured the whole party.

"Samboo," said the shikarree.

Both knew that Ossaroo meant by "Samboo," the great deer or stag known
to Europeans as the sambur deer.  It was the eyes of a deer, then,
glancing back the blaze of the oak fagots, that had alarmed them.

Their fears were suddenly changed to feelings of joy.  They had a double
motive for being pleased at the sight.  To shoot and bring down the deer
would be such excellent sport; besides, a fresh venison steak was a
delicacy which both could appreciate.

All of them, Ossaroo included, were too well accustomed to the habits of
hunters to act rashly.  Any sudden movement among them might frighten
the game; and if it bounded off into the forest, or even turned its
head, it could no longer be seen in the pitchy darkness that surrounded
them.  The shining eyes were all of it that were visible; and if the
creature had but chosen to _shut its eyes_ it might have stood there
till the morning light, without the least chance of being aimed at.

The animal, however, was too full of its own curiosity to adopt this
precaution.  Instead, it remained where it had been first observed--its
great round orbs uncovered to their full extent and gleaming in the
light like a pair of "bull's-eyes."

Caspar in a whisper cautioned the others to remain silent and not to
move hand or finger.  He, himself, gradually dropped his arm, until he
was able to grasp his large double-barrelled gun; and then, raising the
piece slowly to a level, took aim and fired.  He very prudently did not
aim for the centre spot between the eyes.  Had it been a bullet that was
in his gun he might have done so; but he knew that his piece was only
loaded with shot, and shot--even though they were "buckshot"--might not
penetrate the hard thick skull of a stag so strong as the sambur.
Instead of aiming for the eyes, therefore, he took sight at least a foot
below them, and in a direct line below.  He had already conjectured,
from the even set of the eyes, that the deer was standing full front
towards the camp-fire, and his object was to send the shot into its
breast and throat.

The instant after he had delivered the first barrel, although the
shining eyes went out like the snuffing of candles, he fired the second,
so as to take advantage of a random shot.

He might have spared his load, for the first had done the business; and
the noise of kicking and sprawling among the dry leaves told that the
deer was knocked over, and, if not killed, at least badly wounded.

The dog Fritz had already leaped forth; and before the hunters could
procure a torch and reach the spot, the huge hound had seized the quarry
by the throat, and finished its struggles by strangling it to death.

They now dragged the carcass up to the light of the fire, and it was
just as much as the three of them could manage--for the sambur deer is
one of the largest animals of its kind, and the one that had fallen into
their hands was a fine old buck, with a pair of immense antlered horns,
of which no doubt in his lifetime he had been excessively proud.

The sambur deer is one of the most distinguished of the deer tribe.
Although not equal in size to the American wapiti (_Cervus Canadensis_),
he is much superior to the stag or red-deer of Europe.  He is an active,
bold, and vicious animal; and, when bayed, a dangerous antagonist either
to dogs or hunters.  His coat is close, the hair harsh, of a brown
colour, and slightly grizzled.  Around the neck it is long and shaggy,
but particularly upon the under line of the throat, where it forms a
mane similar to that of the American wapiti.  Another mane runs along
the back of the neck, adding to the fierce bold appearance of the
animal.  A blackish band encircles the muzzle, and the usual "crupper
mark" around the tail is small and of a yellowish colour.

This is the description of the common sambur deer (_Cervus hippelaphus_)
best known to Europeans, and among Anglo-Indian sportsmen called "stag";
but it is to be observed that in different parts of Asia there are many
different species and varieties of the sambur.  Zoologists usually class
them in a group called _Rusa_; and one or other of this group may be
found in every district of India from Ceylon to the Himalayas, and from
the Indus to the islands of the Indian Archipelago.  They haunt in
timber, and usually by the banks of streams or other waters.

America has long been regarded as the favourite region of the deer
tribe, as Africa is the true home of the antelopes.  This belief,
however, seems to be rather an incorrect one, and has arisen, perhaps,
from the fact that the American species are better known to Europeans.
It is true that the largest of the deer--the moose (_Cervus alces_)--is
an inhabitant of the American continent in common with Northern Europe
and Asia; but the number of species on that continent, both in its
northern and southern divisions, is very limited.  When the zoology of
the East--I mean of all those countries and islands usually included
under the term East Indies--shall have been fully determined, we shall
no doubt find not only twice, but three times the number of species of
deer that belongs to America.

When we consider the vast number of educated Englishmen--both in the
array and in the civil service--who have idled away their lives in
India, we cannot help wondering at the little that is yet known in
relation to the _fauna_ of the Oriental world.  Most of the Indian
officers have looked upon the wild animals of that country with the eye
of the sportsman rather than of the naturalist.  With them a deer is a
deer, and a large ox-like animal a buffalo, or it may be a gayal, or a
jungle cow, or a gour, or a gyall; but which of all these is an ox, or
whether the four last-mentioned bovine quadrupeds are one and the same
species, remains to be determined.  Were it not that these gentlemen
have had spirit enough occasionally to send us home a skin or a set of
horns, we might remain altogether ignorant of the existence of the
creature from which these trophies were taken.  Verily science owes not
much to the Honourable East India Company.  We are not blind to such
noble exceptions as Sykes, Hodgson, and others; and, if every province
of India had a resident of their character, a fauna might soon be
catalogued that would astonish even the spectacled _savant_.



CHAPTER NINE.

A NIGHT MARAUDER.

Ossaroo soon stripped the stag of its skin, cut the carcass into
quarters, and hung them on the limb of a tree.  Although the party had
already supped, the excitement which had been occasioned by the incident
gave them a fresh appetite; and venison-steaks were broiled over the
oak-wood cinders, and eaten with a relish.  These were washed down by
fresh draughts of the delicious palm-wine; and then the travellers,
having gathered some of the hanging moss, "_Usnea_," and strewed it near
the fire, rolled themselves in their blankets, and went to sleep.

About midnight there was a camp alarm.  The sleepers were awakened by
the dog Fritz; who, by his angry baying and fierce demonstrations,
showed that some creature must have approached the fire that had no
business to be there.  On rousing themselves they thought they heard
footsteps at a little distance, and a low growl as of some wild beast;
but it was not easy to distinguish any sound in particular, as at this
season the tropical forest is full of noises--so loud that it is often
difficult for persons to hear each other in conversation.  What with the
chirruping of cicadas, the croaking of swamp-frogs, the tinkling of
tree-toads, and the hooting and screeching of owls and night-hawks, the
Indian forest is filled with a deafening din throughout the whole night.

Fritz ceased barking after a time; and they all went to sleep again, and
slept till morning.

As soon as day broke, they were up, and set about preparing breakfast.
Fresh fagots were piled upon the fire, and preparations made for a
savoury roast of venison rib.  Ossaroo climbed up to his tap, while
Caspar went for the meat.

The quarters of the deer had been suspended upon a tree, at the distance
of about fifty paces from the camp-fire.  The reason of their being hung
at such a distance was that a stream flowed there, and in order to clean
the meat, they had carried it down to the water's edge.  A horizontal
branch, which was about the proper height from the ground, had tempted
Ossaroo, and he had chosen it for his "meat-rack."

An exclamation from Caspar now summoned the others to the spot.

"See!" cried he, as they came up, "one of the quarters gone!"

"Ha! there have been thieves!" said Karl.  "That was what caused Fritz
to bark."

"Thieves!" ejaculated Caspar.  "Not men thieves!  They would have
carried off the four quarters instead of one.  Some wild beast has been
the thief!"

"Yes, Sahib, you speakee true," said the shikarree, who had now reached
the spot; "he wild beast--he very wild beast--big tiger!"

At the mention of the name of this terrible animal, both boys started,
and looked anxiously around.  Even Ossaroo himself exhibited symptoms of
fear.  To think they had been sleeping on the open ground so close to a
tiger--the most savage and dreaded of all beasts--and this, too, in
India, where they were constantly hearing tales of the ravages committed
by these animals!

"You think it was a tiger?" said the botanist, interrupting Ossaroo.

"Sure, Sahib--lookee here!--Sahib, see him track!"

The shikarree pointed to some tracks in the selvedge of sand that lined
the bank of the rivulet.  There, sure enough, were the foot-prints of a
large animal; and, upon inspecting them closely, they could easily be
distinguished as those of a creature of the cat tribe.  There were the
pads or cushions smoothly imprinted in the sand, and the slight
impression of the claws--for the tiger, although possessed of very long
and sharp claws, can retract these when walking, so as to leave very
little mark of them in the mud or sand.  The tracks were too large to be
mistaken for those either of a leopard or panther, and the only other
animal to which they could appertain was the lion.  There were lions in
that district.  But Ossaroo well knew how to distinguish between the
tracks of the two great carnivora, and without a moment's hesitation he
pronounced the robber to have been a tiger.

It now became a matter of serious consideration what they should do
under the circumstances.  Should they abandon their camp, and _move_
forward?  Karl was very desirous of spending a day or two in the
neighbourhood.  He made no doubt of being able to find several new
species of plants there.  But with the knowledge of having such a
neighbour they would not sleep very soundly.  The tiger would, no doubt,
return to the camp.  He was not likely to stay away from a quarter where
he had found such hospitable entertainment--such a good supper.  He must
have seen the rest of the venison, and would be sure to pay them another
visit on the following night.  True, they might kindle large fires, and
frighten him off from their sleeping place; still, they would be under
an unpleasant apprehension; and even during the day they had no
confidence that he might not attack them--particularly if they went
botanising in the woods.  The very places into which their occupation
would lead them, would be those in which they were most likely to meet
this dreaded neighbour.  Perhaps, therefore, it would be best to pack
up, and proceed on their journey.

While eating their breakfasts the thing was debated among them.  Caspar,
full of hunter-spirit, was desirous of having a peep at the tiger
anyhow; but Karl was more prudent, if not a little more timid, and
thought it was better to "move on."  This was the opinion of the
botanist; but he at length gave way to Caspar, and more particularly to
Ossaroo, who proposed _killing_ the tiger if they would only remain one
night longer upon the ground.

"What! with your bow, Ossaroo?" asked Caspar; "with your poisoned
arrows?"

"No, young Sahib," replied Ossaroo.

"I thought you would have but little chance to kill a great tiger with
such weapons.  How do you mean to do it then?"

"If Sahib Karl consent to stay till to-morrow, Ossaroo show you--he kill
tiger--he catch 'im 'live."

"Catch him alive!--In a trap?--In a snare?"

"No trapee--no snaree.  You see.  Ossaroo do what he say--he take tiger
'live."

Ossaroo had evidently some plan of his own, and the others became
curious to know what it was.  As the shikarree promised that it was
unattended with danger, the botanist consented to remain, and let the
trial be made.

Ossaroo now let them into the secret of his plan; and as soon as they
had finished eating their breakfasts, all hands set to work to assist
him in carrying it into execution.

They proceeded as follows.  In the first place, a large number of joints
of bamboo were obtained from a neighbouring thicket of these canes.  The
bark of the banyan was then cut, and the canes inserted in such a manner
that the white milky sap ran into them.  Each joint was left closed at
the bottom, and served as a vessel to collect the juice, and such stems
of the fig only were tapped as were young and full of sap.  As soon as a
sufficient quantity of the fluid had been distilled into the canes, the
contents of all were poured into the cooking-pot, and hung over a slow
fire.  The sap was then stirred--fresh juice being occasionally thrown
in--and in a short while the whole attained the toughness and
consistency of the best birdlime.  It was, in fact, true birdlime--the
same that is used by the bird-catchers of India, and quite equal to that
manufactured from the holly.

During the time that this was being prepared, Karl and Caspar, by the
directions of Ossaroo, had climbed into the trees, and collected an
immense quantity of leaves.  These leaves were also taken from the
banyan figs, and for this purpose they had selected those that grew on
the youngest trees and shoots.  Each leaf was as large as a tea-plate,
and they were covered with a woolly pubescence, peculiar only to the
leaves upon the younger trees--for as the banyan grows old its leaves
become harder and smoother on the surface.

The fig-leaves having been gathered to his hand, and the birdlime made
ready, Ossaroo proceeded to carry out his design.

The two remaining quarters of the venison still hung on the tree.  These
were permitted to remain--as a bait to the singular trap that Ossaroo
was about to set--only that they were raised higher from the ground, in
order that the tiger might not too readily snatch them away, and thus
defeat the stratagem of the hunter.

The venison having been hung to his liking, Ossaroo now cleared the
ground for a large space around--directing his assistants to carry off
all the brush and dead wood to a distance from the spot.  This was
quickly done, and then the shikarree put the finishing stroke to his
work.  This occupied him for two hours at least, and consisted in
anointing all the fig-leaves that had been gathered with a coat of
birdlime, and spreading them over the ground, until they covered a space
of many yards in circumference.  In the centre of this space hung the
venison; and no creature could have approached within yards of it
without treading upon the smeared leaves.  The leaves had been anointed
upon both sides, so that they adhered slightly to the grass, and a
breeze of wind could not have disarranged them to any great extent.

When all was fixed to their satisfaction, Ossaroo and the others
returned to the camp-fire, and ate a hearty dinner.  It was already late
in the day, for they had been many hours at work, and they had not
thought of dining until their arrangements were complete.  Nothing more
remained to be done, but to await the result of their stratagem.



CHAPTER TEN.

A TALK ABOUT TIGERS.

I need not describe a tiger.  You have seen one, or the picture of one.
He is the great _striped_ cat.  The large _spotted_ ones are not tigers.
They are either jaguars, or panthers, or leopards, or ounces, or
cheetahs, or servals.  But there is no danger of your mistaking the
tiger for any other animal.  He is the largest of the feline tribe--the
lion alone excepted--and individual tigers have been measured as large
as the biggest lion.  The shaggy mane that covers the neck and shoulders
of an old male lion gives him the appearance of being of greater
dimensions than he really is.  Skin him and he would not be larger than
an old male tiger also divested of his hide.

Like the lion, the tiger varies but little in form or colour.  Nature
does not sport with these powerful beasts.  It is only upon the meaner
animals she plays off her eccentricities.  The tiger may be seen with
the ground-colour of a lighter or deeper yellow, and the stripes or bars
more or less black; but the same general appearance is preserved, and
the species can always be recognised at a glance.

The range or habitat of the tiger is more limited than that of the lion.
The latter exists throughout the whole of Africa, as well as the
southern half of Asia; whereas the tiger is found only in the
south-eastern countries of Asia, and some of the larger islands of the
Indian Archipelago.  Westwardly his range does not extend to this side
of the Indus river, and how far north in Asia is uncertain.  Some
naturalists assert that there are tigers in Asia as far north as the Obi
River.  This would prove the tiger to be not altogether a tropical
animal, as he is generally regarded.  It is certain that tigers once did
inhabit the countries around the Caspian Sea.  There lay Hyrcania; and
several Roman writers speak of the Hyrcanian tigers.  They could not
have meant any of the spotted cats,--ounce, panther, or leopard,--for
the Romans knew the difference between these and the striped or true
tiger.  If, then, the tiger was an inhabitant of those trans-Himalayan
regions in the days of Augustus, it is possible it still exists there,
as we have proofs of its existence in Mongolia and northern China at the
present day.

Were we to believe some travellers, we should have the tiger, not only
in Africa, but in America.  The jaguar is the tiger (_tigre_) of the
Spanish Americans; and the panther, leopard, and cheetah, have all done
duty as "tigers" in the writings of old travellers in Africa.

The true home of this fierce creature is the hot jungle-covered country
that exists in extended tracts in Hindostan, Siam, Malaya, and parts of
China.  There the tiger roams undisputed lord of the thicket and forest;
and although the lion is also found in these countries, he is
comparatively a rare animal, and, from being but seldom met with, is
less talked about or feared.

We who live far away from the haunts of these great carnivora, can
hardly realise the terror which is inspired by them in the countries
they infest.

In many places human life is not safe; and men go out upon a journey,
with the same dread of meeting a tiger, that we would have for an
encounter with a mad dog.  This dread is by no means founded upon mere
fancies or fabricated stories.  Every village has its true tales of
tiger attacks and encounters, and every settlement has its list of
killed or maimed.  You can scarce credit such a relation; but it is a
well-known fact that whole districts of fertile _country_ have from time
to time been abandoned by their inhabitants out of pure fear of the
tigers and panthers which infested them!  Indeed, similar cases of
depopulation have occurred in South America, caused by a far less
formidable wild beast--the jaguar.

In some parts of India the natives scarce attempt resistance to the
attack of the tiger.  Indeed, the superstition of his victims aids the
fierce monster in their destruction.  They regard him as being gifted
with supernatural power, and sent by their gods to destroy; and under
this conviction yield themselves up, without making the slightest
resistance.

In other parts, where races exist possessed of more energy of character,
the tiger is hunted eagerly, and various modes of killing or capturing
him are practised in different districts.

Sometimes a bow is set with poisoned arrows, and a cord attached to the
string.  A bait is then placed on the ground, and arranged in such a way
that the tiger, on approaching it, presses against the cord, sets the
bow-string free, and is pierced by the arrow--the poison of which
eventually causes his death.

A spring-gun is set off by a similar contrivance, and the tiger shoots
himself.

The log-trap or "dead-fall"--often employed by American backwoodsmen for
capturing the black bear--is also in use in India for trapping the
tiger.  This consists of a heavy log or beam so adjusted upon the top of
another one by a prop or "trigger," as to fall and crush whatever animal
may touch the trigger.  A bait is also used for this species of trap.

Hunting the tiger upon elephants is a royal sport in India, and is often
followed by the Indian rajahs, and sometimes by British sportsmen--
officers of the East India Company.  This sport is, of course, very
exciting; but there is nothing of a _ruse_ practised in it.  The hunters
go armed with rifles and spears; and attended by a large number of
natives, who beat the jungle and drive the game within reach of the
sportsmen.  Many lives are sacrificed in this dangerous sport; but those
who suffer are usually the poor peasants employed as beaters; and an
Indian rajah holds the lives of a score or two of his subjects as
lightly as that of a tiger itself.

It is said the Chinese catch the tiger in a box-trap, which they bait
simply with a looking-glass.  The tiger, on approaching the
looking-glass, perceives his own shadow, and mistaking it for a rival,
rushes forward to the trap, frees the trigger, and is caught.  It may be
that the Chinese practised such a method.  That part is likely enough;
but it is not likely that they take many tigers in this way.

Perhaps you may be of opinion that the plan which Ossaroo was about to
follow was quite as absurd as that of the Chinese.  It certainly did
sound very absurd to his companions, when he first told them that it was
his intention to _catch the tiger by birdlime_!



CHAPTER ELEVEN.

A TIGER TAKEN BY BIRDLIME.

The plan of the shikarree was put to the test sooner than any of them
expected.  They did not look for the tiger to return before sunset, and
they had resolved to pass the night among the branches of the banyan in
order to be out of the way of danger.  The tiger might take it into his
head to stroll into their camp; and although, under ordinary
circumstances, these fierce brutes have a dread of fire, there are some
of them that do not regard it, and instances have occurred of tigers
making their attack upon men who were seated close to a blazing pile!
Ossaroo knew of several such cases, and had, therefore, given his
advice, that all of them should pass the night in the tree.  It was true
the tiger could easily scale the banyan if the notion occurred to him;
but, unless they made some noise to attract his attention, he would not
be likely to discover their whereabouts.  They had taken the precaution
to erect a platform of bamboos among the branches, so as to serve them
for a resting-place.

After all, they were not under the necessity of resorting to this
elevated roost,--at least for the purpose of passing the night there.
But they occupied it for a while; and during that while they were
witnesses to a scene that for singularity, and comicality as well, was
equal to anything that any of them had ever beheld.

It wanted about half-an-hour of sunset, and they were all seated around
the camp-fire, when a singular noise reached their ears.  It was not
unlike the "whirr" made by a thrashing-machine--which any one must have
heard who has travelled through an agricultural district.  Unlike this,
however, the sound was not prolonged, but broke out at intervals,
continued for a few seconds, and then was silent again.

Ossaroo was the only one of the party who, on hearing this sound,
exhibited any feelings of alarm.  The others were simply curious.  It
was an unusual sound.  They wondered what was producing it--nothing
more.  They quite shared the alarm of the shikarree, when the latter
informed them that what they heard was neither more nor less than the
"purr" of a tiger!

Ossaroo communicated this information in an ominous whisper, at the same
instant crouching forward towards the main trunk of the banyan, and
beckoning to the others to follow him.

Without a word they obeyed the sign, and all three climbed, one after
the other, up the trunk, and silently seated themselves among the
branches.

By looking through the outer screen of leaves, and a little downward,
they could see the quarters of venison hanging from the limb, and also
the whole surface of the ground where the glittering leaves were spread.

Whether the haunch which the tiger had stolen on the preceding night had
not been sufficient for his supper, and he had grown hungry again before
his usual feeding-time, is uncertain.  But certain it is that Ossaroo,
who understood well the habits of this striped robber, did not expect
him to return so soon.  He looked for him after darkness should set in.
But the loud "purr-r-r" that at intervals came booming through the
jungle, and each time sounding more distinctly, showed that the great
cat was upon the ground.

All at once they espied him coming out of the bushes, and on the other
side of the rivulet--his broad whitish throat and breast shining in
contrast with the dark green foliage.  He was crouching just after the
manner of a house-cat when making her approach to some unwary bird--his
huge paws spread before him, and his long back hollowed down--a hideous
and fearful object to behold.  His eyes appeared to flash fire, as he
bent them upon the tempting joints hanging high up upon the branch of
the tree.

After reconnoitring a little, he gathered up his long back into a curve,
vaulted into the air, and cleared the rivulet from bank to bank.  Then,
without further pause, he trotted nimbly forward, and stopped directly
under the hanging joints.

Ossaroo had purposely raised the meat above its former elevation, and
the lowest ends of the joints were full twelve feet from the ground.
Although the tiger can bound to a very great distance in a horizontal
direction, he is not so well fitted for springing vertically upwards,
and therefore the tempting morsels were just beyond his reach.  He
seemed to be somewhat nonplussed at this--for upon his last visit he had
found things rather different--but after regarding the joints for a
moment or two, and uttering a loud snuff of discontent, he flattened his
paws against the ground, and sprang high into air.

The attempt was a failure.  He came back to the earth without having
touched the meat, and expressed his dissatisfaction by an angry growl.

In another moment, he made a second spring upwards.  This time, he
struck one of the quarters with his paw, and sent it swinging backwards
and forwards, though it had been secured too well to the branch to be in
any danger of falling.

All at once, the attention of the great brute became directed to a
circumstance, which seemed to puzzle him not a little.  He noticed that
there was something adhering to his paws.  He raised one of them from
the ground, and saw that two or three leaves were sticking to it.  What
could be the matter with the leaves, to cling to his soles in that
manner?  They appeared to be wet, but what of that?  He had never known
wet leaves stick to his feet any more than dry ones.  Perhaps it was
this had hindered him from springing up as high as he had intended?  At
all events, he did not feel quite comfortable, and he should have the
leaves off before he attempted to leap again.  He gave his paw a slight
shake, but the leaves would not go.  He shook it more violently, still
the leaves adhered!  He could not make it out.  There was some gummy
substance upon them, such as he had never met with before in all his
travels.  He had rambled over many a bed of fig-leaves in his day, but
had never set foot upon such sticky leaves as these.

Another hard shake of the paw produced no better effect.  Still stuck
fast the leaves, as if they had been pitch plasters; one covering the
whole surface of his foot, and others adhering to its edges.  Several
had even fastened themselves on his ankles.  What the deuce did it all
mean?

As shaking the paw was of no use, he next attempted to get rid of them
by the only other means known to him; that was by rubbing them off
against his cheeks and snout.  He raised the paw to his ears, and drew
it along the side of his head.  He succeeded in getting most of them off
his foot in this way, but, to his chagrin, they now adhered to his head,
ears, and jaws, where they felt still more uncomfortable and annoying.
These he resolved to detach, by using his paw upon them; but, instead of
doing so, he only added to their number, for, on raising his foot, he
found that a fresh batch of the sticky leaves had fastened upon it.  He
now tried the other foot, with no better effect.  It, too, was covered
with gummy leaves, that only became detached to fasten upon his jaws,
and stick there, in spite of all his efforts to tear them off.  Even
some of them had got over his eyes, and already half-blinded him!  But
one way remained to get rid of the leaves, that had so fastened upon his
head.  Every time he applied his paws, it only made things worse.  But
there was still a way to get them off--so thought he--by rubbing his
head along the ground.

No sooner thought of than done.  He pressed his jaws down to the earth,
and, using his hind-legs to push himself along, he rubbed hard to rid
himself of the annoyance.  He then turned over, and tried the same
method with the other side; but, after continuing at this for some
moments, he discovered he was only making matters worse; in fact, he
found that both his eyes were now completely "bunged up," and that he
was perfectly blind!  He felt, moreover, that his whole head, as well as
his body, was now covered, even to the tip of his tail.

By this time, he had lost all patience.  He thought no longer of the
venison.  He thought only of freeing himself from the detestable plight
in which he was placed.  He sprang and bounded over the ground; now
rubbing his head along the surface, now scraping it with his huge paws,
and ever and anon dashing himself against the stems of the trees that
grew around.  All this while, his growling, and howling, and screaming,
filled the woods with the most hideous noises.

Up to this crisis, our travellers had watched his every movement, all of
them bursting with laughter; to which, however, they dare not give
utterance, lest they might spoil the sport.  At length, Ossaroo knew
that the time was come for something more serious than laughter; and,
descending from the tree with his long spear, he beckoned the others to
follow with their guns.

The shikarree could have approached and thrust the tiger, without much
danger; but, to make sure, the double-barrel, already loaded with ball,
was fired at him, along with Caspar's rifle; and one of the bullets
striking him between the ribs, put an end to his struggles, by laying
him out upon the grass dead as a herring.

Upon examining him, they found that the fig-leaves go covered his eyes,
as to render him completely blind.  What prevented him from scratching
them off with his huge claws was, that these were so wrapped up in the
leafy envelope as to render them perfectly useless, and no longer
dangerous, had any one engaged with him in close combat.

When the exciting scene was over, all of the party indulged in hearty
laughter; for there was something extremely ludicrous, not only in the
idea, but in the act itself, of trapping a royal tiger by so simple a
contrivance as birdlime.



CHAPTER TWELVE.

A RARE RAFT.

Ossaroo did not fail to skin the tiger, and to eat for his supper a
large steak, cut off from his well-fleshed ribs.  The others did not
join him in this singular viand, although the shikarree assured them
that tiger-beef was far superior to the venison of the sambur deer.
There may have been truth in Ossaroo's assertion; for it is well-known,
that the flesh of several kinds of carnivorous animals is not only
palatable, but delicate eating.  Indeed, the delicacy of the meat does
not seem at all to depend upon the food of the animal; since no creature
is a more unclean feeder than the domestic pig, and what is nicer or
more tender than a bit of roast pork?  On the other hand, many animals,
whose flesh is exceedingly bitter, feed only on fresh grass or sweet
succulent roots and plants.  As a proof of this, I might instance the
tapir of South America, the quaggas and zebras of Africa, and even some
animals of the deer and antelope tribes, whose flesh is only eatable in
cases of emergency.

The same fact may be observed in relation to birds.  Many birds of prey
furnish a dish quite equal to choice game.  For one, the flesh of the
large chicken-hawk of America (eaten and eagerly sought after by the
plantation negroes) is not much, if anything, inferior to that of the
bird upon which it preys.

It was not for the "meat," however, that Ossaroo stripped the tiger of
his skin, but rather for the skin itself; and not so much for the
absolute value of the skin, for in India that is not great.  Had it been
a panther or leopard skin, or even the less handsome hide of the
cheetah, its absolute value would have been greater.  But there was an
artificial value attached to the skin of a tiger, and that well knew the
shikarree.  He knew that there was a _bounty of ten rupees_ for every
tiger killed, and also that to obtain this bounty it was necessary to
show the skin.  True it was the East India Company that paid the bounty,
and only for tigers killed in their territory.  This one had not been
killed under the British flag, but what of that?  A tiger-skin was a
tiger-skin; and Ossaroo expected some day not distant to walk the
streets of Calcutta; and, with this idea in his mind, he climbed up the
great banyan, and hid his tiger-skin among its topmost branches, to be
left there till his return from the mountains.

The next two days were spent in the same neighbourhood, and the
plant-hunter was very successful.  The seeds of many rare plants, some
of them quite new to the botanical world, were here obtained, and like
the skin of the tiger deposited in a safe place, so that the collectors
might not be burdened with them on their journey to the mountains.  It
was in this way that Karl had resolved upon making his collections,
leaving the seeds and nuts he should obtain at various places upon his
route; and, when returning, he trusted to be able to employ some coolies
to assist in getting them carried to Calcutta or some other sea-port.

On the fourth day the travellers again took the route, still facing due
northward in the direction of the mountains.  They needed no guide to
point out their course, as the river which they had resolved upon
following upwards was guide enough; usually they kept along its banks,
but sometimes a thick marshy jungle forced them to abandon the
water-edge and keep away for some distance into the back country, where
the path was more safe and open.

About midday they arrived at the banks of a stream, that was a branch of
the main river.  This stream lay transversely to their route, and, of
course, had to be crossed.  There was neither bridge nor ford, nor
crossing of any kind to be seen, and the current was both wide and deep.
They followed it up for more than a mile; but it neither grew shallower
nor yet more narrow.  They walked up and down for a couple of hours,
endeavouring to find a crossing, but to no purpose.

Both Caspar and Ossaroo were good swimmers, but Karl could not swim a
stroke; and it was entirely on his account that they stayed to search
for a ford.  The other two would have dashed in at once, regardless of
the swift current.  What was to be done with Karl?  In such a rapid
running river it was as much as the best swimmer could do to carry
himself across; therefore not one of the others could assist Karl.  How
then, were they to get over?

They had seated themselves under a tree to debate this question; and no
doubt the habile Ossaroo would soon have offered a solution to it, and
got the young Sahib across, but at that moment assistance arrived from a
very unexpected quarter.

There was a belt of open ground--a sort of meadow upon the side opposite
to where they were seated, which was backed by a jungly forest.

Out of this forest a man was seen to emerge, and take his way across the
meadow in the direction of the river.  His swarthy complexion, and bushy
black hair hanging neglected over his shoulders--his dress consisting of
a single blanket-like robe, held by a leathern belt around the waist--
his bare legs and sandalled feet--all bore evidence that he was one of
the half-savage natives of the Terai.

His appearance created a great sensation, and astonished all the party--
Ossaroo, perhaps, excepted.  It was not his wild look nor his odd
costume that produced this astonishment, for men who have travelled in
Hindostan are not likely to be surprised by wild looks and strange
dresses.  What astonished our travellers--and it would have had a like
effect upon the most stoical people in the world--was that the
individual who approached was carrying a _buffalo upon his back_!  Not
the quarter of a buffalo, nor the head of a buffalo, but a whole one, as
big, and black, and hairy, as an English bull!  The back of the animal
lay against the back of the man, with the head and horns projecting over
his shoulder, the legs sticking out behind, and the tail dragging about
his heels!

How one man could bear up under such a load was more than our travellers
could divine; but not only did this wild Mech bear up under it, but he
appeared to carry it with ease, and stepped as lightly across the meadow
as if it had been a bag of feathers he was carrying!

Both Karl and Caspar uttered exclamations of surprise, and rapid
interrogatories were put to Ossaroo for an explanation.  Ossaroo only
smiled significantly in reply, evidently able to explain this mysterious
phenomenon; but enjoying the surprise of his companions too much to
offer a solution of it as long as he could decorously withhold it.

The surprise of the boys was not diminished, when another native stepped
out of the timber, buffalo on back, like the first; and then another and
another--until half-a-dozen men, with a like number of buffaloes on
their shoulders, were seen crossing the meadows!

Meanwhile the foremost had reached the bank of the river; and now the
astonishment of the botanists reached its climax, when they saw this man
let down the huge animal from his shoulders, embrace it with his arms,
place it before him in the water, and then mount astride _upon its
back_!  In a moment more he was out in the stream, and his buffalo
swimming under him, or rather he seemed to be pushing it along, using
his arms and legs as paddles to impel it forward!

The others, on reaching the water, acted in a precisely similar manner,
and the whole party were soon launched, and crossing the stream
together.

It was not until the foremost Mech had arrived at the bank close to
where our travellers awaited them, _lifted his buffalo out of the water,
and reshouldered it_, that the latter learnt to their surprise that what
they had taken for buffaloes were nothing more than the inflated skins
of these animals that were thus employed as rafts by the rude but
ingenious natives of the district!

The same contrivance is used by the inhabitants of the Punjaub and other
parts of India, where fords are few and bridges cannot be built.  The
buffaloes are skinned, with the legs, heads, and horns left on, to serve
as handles and supports in managing them.  They are then rendered
airtight and inflated, heads, legs, and all; and in this way bear such a
resemblance to the animals from which they have been taken, that even
dogs are deceived, and often growl and bark at them.  Of course the
quantity of air is for more than sufficient to buoy up the weight of a
man.  Sometimes, when goods and other articles are to be carried across,
several skins are attached together, and thus form an excellent raft.

This was done upon the spot, and at a moment's notice.  The Mechs,
although a half-savage people, are far from uncivil in their intercourse
with strangers.  A word from Ossaroo, accompanied by a few pipes of
tobacco from the botanist, procured the desired raft of buffalo-skins;
and our party, in less than half-an-hour, were safely deposited upon the
opposite bank, and allowed to continue their journey without the
slightest molestation.



CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

THE TALLEST GRASS IN THE WORLD.

As our travellers proceeded up-stream, they were occasionally compelled
to pass through tracts covered with a species of jungle-grass, called
"Dab-grass," which not only reached above the heads of the tallest of
the party, but would have done so had they been giants!  Goliath or the
Cyclops might have, either of them, stood on tiptoe in a field of this
grass, without being able to look over its tops.

The botanist was curious enough to measure some stalks of this gigantic
grass, and found them full fourteen feet in height, and as thick as a
man's finger near the roots!  Of course no animal, except a giraffe,
could raise its head over the tops of such grass as this; but there are
no giraffes in this part of the world--these long-necked creatures being
confined to the Continent of Africa.  Wild elephants, however, are found
here; and the largest of them can hide himself in the midst of this tall
sward, as easily as a mouse would in an English meadow.

But there are other animals that make their layer in the dab-grass.  It
is a favourite haunt both of the tiger and Indian lion; and it was not
without feelings of fear that our botanical travellers threaded their
way amidst its tall cane-like culms.

You will be ready to admit, that the dab-grass is a tall grass.  But it
is far from being the tallest in the world, or in the East Indies
either.  What think you of a grass nearly five times as tall?  And yet
in that same country such a grass exists.  Yes--there is a species of
"panic-grass," the _Panicum arborescens_, which actually grows to the
height of fifty feet, with a culm not thicker than an ordinary
goose-quill!  This singular species is, however, a climbing plant,
growing up amidst the trees of the forest, supported by their branches,
and almost reaching to their tops.

This panic-grass you will, no doubt, fancy _must be the tallest grass in
the world_.  But no.  Prepare yourself to hear that there is still
another kind, not only taller than this, but one that grows to the
prodigious height of a hundred feet!

You will guess what sort I am about to name.  It could be no other than
the giant _bamboo.  That is the tallest grass in the world_.

You know the bamboo as a "cane;" but for all that it is a true grass,
belonging to the natural order of _gramineae_, or grasses, the chief
difference between it, and many others of the same order, being its more
gigantic dimensions.

My young reader, I may safely assert, that in all the vegetable kingdom
there is no species or form so valuable to the human race as the
"grasses."  Among all civilised nations bread is reckoned as the food of
primary importance, so much so as to have obtained the sobriquet of "the
staff of life;" and nearly every sort of bread is the production of a
grass.  Wheat, barley, oats, maize, and rice, are all grasses; and so,
too, is the sugar-cane--so valuable for its luxurious product.  It would
take up many pages of our little volume to enumerate the various species
of _gramineae_, that contribute to the necessities and luxuries of
mankind; and other pages might be written about species equally
available for the purposes of life, but which have not yet been brought
into cultivation.

Of all kinds of grasses, however, none possesses greater interest than
the bamboo.  Although not the most useful as an article of food, this
noble plant serves a greater number of purposes in the economy of human
life, than perhaps any other vegetable in existence.

What the palm-tree of many species is to the natives of South America or
tropical Africa, such is the bamboo to the inhabitants of Southern Asia
and its islands.  It is doubtful whether nature has conferred upon these
people any greater boon than this noble plant, the light and graceful
culms of which are applied by them to a multitude of useful purposes.
Indeed so numerous are the uses made of the bamboo, that it would be an
elaborate work even to make out a list of them.  A few of the purposes
to which it is applied will enable you to judge of the valuable nature
of this princely grass.

The young shoots of some species are cut when tender, and eaten like
asparagus.  The full-grown stems, while green, form elegant cases,
exhaling a perpetual moisture, and capable of transporting fresh flowers
for hundreds of miles.  When ripe and hard, they are converted into
bows, arrows, and quivers, lance-shafts, the masts of vessels,
walking-sticks, the poles of palanquins, the floors and supporters of
bridges, and a variety of similar purposes.  In a growing state the
strong kinds are formed into stockades, which are impenetrable to any
thing but regular infantry or artillery.  By notching their sides the
Malays make wonderfully light scaling ladders, which can be conveyed
with facility, where heavier machines could not be transported.  Bruised
and crushed in water, the leaves and stems form Chinese paper, the finer
qualities of which are only improved by a mixture of raw cotton and by
more careful pounding.  The leaves of a small species are the material
used by the Chinese for the lining of their tea-chests.  Cut into
lengths, and the partitions knocked out, they form durable water-pipes,
or by a little contrivance are made into cases for holding rolls of
paper.  Slit into strips, they afford a most durable material for
weaving into mats, baskets, window-blinds, and even the sails of boats;
and the larger and thicker truncheons are carved by the Chinese into
beautiful ornaments.  For building purposes the bamboo is still more
important.  In many parts of India the framework of the houses of the
natives is chiefly composed of this material.  In the flooring, whole
stems, four or live inches in diameter, are laid close to each other,
and across these, laths of split bamboo, about an inch wide, are
fastened down by filaments of rattan cane.  The sides of the houses are
closed in by the bamboos opened and rendered flat by splitting or
notching the circular joints on the outside, chipping away the
corresponding divisions within, and laying it in the sun to dry, pressed
down with weights.  Whole bamboos often form the upright timbers, and
the house is generally roofed in with a thatch of narrow split bamboos,
six feet long, placed in regular layers, each reaching within two feet
of the extremity of that beneath it, by which a treble covering is
formed.  Another and most ingenious roof is also formed by cutting large
straight bamboos of sufficient length to reach from the ridge to the
eaves, then splitting them exactly in two, knocking out the partitions,
and arranging them in close order with the hollow or inner sides
uppermost; after which a second layer, with the outer or concave sides
up, is placed upon the other in such a manner that each of the convex
pieces falls into the two contiguous concave pieces covering their
edges, thus serving as gutters to carry off the rain that falls on the
convex layer.

Such are a few of the uses of the bamboo, enumerated by an ingenious
writer; and these are probably not more than one tenth of the purposes
to which this valuable cane is applied by the natives of India.

The quickness with which the bamboo can be cut and fashioned to any
purpose is not the least remarkable of its properties.  One of the most
distinguished of English botanists (Hooker) relates that a complete
_furnished_ house of bamboo, containing chairs and a table, was erected
by his six attendants in the space of one hour!

Of the bamboos there are many species--perhaps fifty in all--some of
them natives of Africa and South America, but the greater number
belonging to southern Asia, which is the true home of these gigantic
grasses.  The species differ in many respects from each other--some of
them being thick and strong, while others are light and slender, and
elastic.  In nothing do the different species vary more than in size.
They are found growing of all sizes, from the dwarf bamboo, as slender
as a wheat-stalk, and only two feet high, to the _Bambusa maxima_, as
thick as a man's body, and towering to the height of a hundred feet!



CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

THE MAN-EATERS.

Ossaroo had lived all his life in a bamboo country, and was well
acquainted with all its uses.  Hardly a vessel or implement that he
could not manufacture of bamboo canes of some kind or another, and many
a purpose besides he knew how to apply them to.  Had he been obliged to
cross a tract of country where there was no water, and required a large
vessel, or "canteen," to carry a supply, he would have made it as
follows.  He would have taken two joints of bamboo, each a couple of
feet long and six or seven inches in diameter.  These he would have
trimmed, so that one of the nodes between the hollow spaces would serve
as a bottom for each.  In the node, or partition, at the top, he would
have pierced a small hole to admit the water, which hole could be closed
by a stopper of the pith of a palm or some soft wood, easily procured in
the tropical forests of India.  In case he could not have found bamboos
with joints sufficiently long for the purpose it would have mattered
little.  Two or more joints would have been taken for each jar, and the
partitions between them broken through, so as to admit the water into
the hollow spaces within.  The pair of "jars" he would have then bound
together at a very acute angle--something after the form of the letter
V--and then to carry them with ease he would have strapped the bamboos
to his back, the apex of the angle downwards, and one of the ends just
peeping over each shoulder.  In this way he would have provided himself
with a water-vessel that for strength and lightness--the two great
essentials--would have been superior to anything that either tinker or
cooper could construct.

As it happened that they were travelling through a district where there
was water at the distance of every mile or two, this bamboo canteen was
not needed.  A single joint holding a quart was enough to give any of
the party a drink whenever they required it.

Now had the Mechs not arrived opportunely with their rafts of inflated
buffalo-skins, there can be no doubt that Ossaroo would have found some
mode of crossing the stream.  A proof that he could have done so
occurred but a few hours after, when our travellers found themselves in
a similar dilemma.  This time it was the main river, whose course they
were following, that lay in the way.  A large bend had to be got over,
else, they would have been compelled to take a circuitous route of many
miles, and by a path which the guide knew to be difficult on account of
some marshes that intervened.

Ossaroo proposed fording the river, but how was that to be done?  It
would be a longer swim than the other, and there were no natives with
their skin-rafts--at least none were in sight.  But there grew close by
a clump of noble bamboos, and the guide pointed to them.

"Oh! you intend to make a raft of the canes?" inquired the botanist.

"Yes, Sahib," replied the shikarree.

"It will take a long time, I fear?"

"No fearee, Sahib; half-hour do."

Ossaroo was as good as his promise.  In half-an-hour not only one raft,
but three--that is, a raft for each--was constructed and ready to be
launched.  The construction of these was as simple as it was ingenious.
Each consisted of four pieces of bamboo, lashed together crossways with
strips of rattan, so as to form a square in the centre just large enough
to admit the body of a man.  Of course, the bamboos, being hollow
within, and closed at both ends, had sufficient buoyancy to sustain a
man's weight above water, and nothing more was wanted.

Each of the party having adjusted his burden upon his back, stepped
within the square space, lifted the framework in his hands, walked
boldly into the river, and was soon floating out upon its current.
Ossaroo had given them instructions how to balance themselves so as to
keep upright, and also how to paddle with both hands and feet: so that,
after a good deal of plashing and spluttering, and laughing and
shouting, all three arrived safely on the opposite bank.  Of course,
Fritz swam over without a raft.

As the river had to be re-crossed on the other arm of the bend, each
carried his raft across the neck or isthmus, where a similar fording was
made, that brought them once more on the path they were following.  Thus
every day--almost every hour--our travellers were astonished by some new
feat of their hunter-guide, and some new purpose to which the noble
bamboo could be applied.

Still another astonishment awaited them.  Ossaroo had yet a feat in
store, in the performance of which the bamboo was to play a conspicuous
part; and it chanced that upon the very next day, an opportunity
occurred by which the hunter was enabled to perform this feat to the
great gratification not only of his travelling companions, but to the
delight of a whole village of natives, who derived no little benefit
from the performance.

I have already said, that there are many parts of India where the people
live in great fear of the tigers--as well as lions, wild elephants,
panthers, and rhinoceroses.  These people have no knowledge of proper
fire-arms.  Some, indeed, carry the clumsy matchlock, which, of course,
is of little or no service in hunting; and their bows, even with
poisoned arrows, are but poor weapons when used in an encounter with
these strong savage beasts.

Often a whole village is kept in a state of terror for weeks or months
by a single tiger who may have made his lair in the neighbourhood, and
whose presence is known by his repeated forays upon the cows, buffaloes,
or other domesticated animals of the villagers.  It is only after this
state of things has continued for a length of time, and much loss has
been sustained, that these poor people, goaded to desperation, at length
assemble together, and risk an encounter with the tawny tyrant.  In such
encounters human lives are frequently sacrificed, and generally some one
of the party receives a blow or scratch from the tiger's paw, which
maims or lames him for the rest of his days.

But there is still a worse case than even this.  Not infrequently the
tiger, instead of preying upon their cattle, carries off one of the
natives themselves; and where this occurs, the savage monster, if not
pursued and killed, is certain to repeat the offence.  It is strange,
and true as strange, that a tiger having once fed upon human flesh,
appears ever after to be fonder of it than of any other food, and will
make the most daring attempts to procure it.  Such tigers are not
uncommon in India, where they are known among the natives by the dreaded
name of _man-eaters_!

It is not a little curious that the Caffres and other natives of South
Africa, apply the same term to individuals of the lion species, known to
be imbued with a similar appetite.

It is difficult to conceive a more horrible monster than a lion or tiger
of such tastes; and in India, when the presence of such an _one_ is
discovered, the whole neighbourhood lives in dread.  Often when a
British post is near, the natives make application to the officers to
assist them in destroying the terrible creature--well knowing that our
countrymen, with their superior courage, with their elephants and fine
rifles, are more than a match for the jungle tyrant.  When no such help
is at hand, the shikarrees, or native hunters, usually assemble, and
either take the tiger by stratagem, or risk their lives in a bold
encounter.  In many a tiger-hunt had Ossaroo distinguished himself, both
by stratagem and prowess, and there was no mode of trapping or killing a
tiger that was not known to him.

He was now called upon to give an exhibition of his craft, which, in
point of ingenuity, was almost equal to the stratagem of the limed
fig-leaves.



CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

THE DEATH OF THE MAN-EATER.

The path which our travellers were following led them into one of the
native villages of the Terai, which lay in a sequestered part of the
forest.  The inhabitants of this village received them with acclamations
of joy.  Their approach had been reported before they reached the place,
and a deputation of the villagers met them on the way, hailing them with
joyful exclamations and gestures of welcome.

Karl and Caspar, ignorant of the native language, and, of course, not
comprehending what was said, were for some time at a loss to understand
the meaning of these demonstrations.  Ossaroo was appealed to, to
furnish an explanation.

"A man-eater," he said.

"A man-eater!"

"Yes, Sahib; a man-eater in the jungle."

This was not sufficiently explicit.  What did Ossaroo mean?  A man-eater
in the jungle?  What sort of creature was that?  Neither Karl nor Caspar
had ever heard of such a thing before.  They questioned Ossaroo.

The latter explained to them what was a man-eater.  It was a tiger so
called, as you already know, on account of its preying upon human
beings.  This one had already killed and carried off a man, a woman, and
two children, beside large numbers of domestic animals.  For more than
three months it had infested the village, and kept the inhabitants in a
state of constant alarm.  Indeed, several families had deserted the
place solely through fear of this terrible tiger; and those that
remained were in the habit, as soon as night came on, of shutting
themselves up within their houses, without daring to stir out again till
morning.  In the instance of one of the children, even this precaution
had not served, for the fierce tiger had broken through the frail wall
of bamboos, and carried the child off before the eyes of its afflicted
parents!

Several times the timid but incensed villagers had assembled and
endeavoured to destroy this terrible enemy.  They had found him each
time in his lair; but, on account of their poor weapons and slight skill
as hunters, he had always been enabled to escape from them.  Indeed on
such occasions the tiger was sure to come off victorious, for it was in
one of these hunts that the man had fallen a sacrifice.  Others of the
villagers had been wounded in the different conflicts with this pest of
the jungle.  With such a neighbour at their doors no wonder they had
been living in a state of disquietude and terror.

But why their joy at the approach of our travellers?

This was proudly explained by Ossaroo, who of course had reason to be
proud of the circumstance.

It appeared that the fame of the shikarree, as a great tiger-hunter, had
preceded him, and his name was known even in the Terai.  The villagers
had heard that he was approaching, accompanied by two Feringhees, (so
Europeans are called by the natives of India,) and they hoped, by the
aid of the noted shikarree and the Feringhee Sahibs, to get rid of the
dreaded marauder.

Ossaroo, thus appealed to, at once gave his promise to aid them.  Of
course the botanist made no objection, and Caspar was delighted with the
idea.  They were to remain all night at the village, since nothing could
be done before night.  They might have got up a grand battue to beat the
jungle and attack the tiger in his lair, but what would have come of
that?  Perhaps the loss of more lives.  None of the villagers cared to
risk themselves in such a hunt, and that was not the way that Ossaroo
killed his tigers.

Karl and Caspar expected to see their companion once more try his
stratagem of the birdlime and the leaves; and such at first was his
intention.  Upon inquiry, however, he found that no birdlime was to be
had.  The villagers did not know how to prepare it, and there were no
fig-trees about the neighbourhood, nor holly, nor trees of any other
kind out of which it could properly be made.

What was Ossaroo to do under these circumstances?  Must he abandon the
idea of destroying the man-eater, and leave the helpless villagers to
their fate?  No.  His hunter pride would not permit that.  His name as a
great shikarree was at stake.  Besides, his humanity was touched--for,
although but a poor Hindoo, he possessed the common feelings of our
nature.  Karl and Caspar, moreover, had taken an interest in the thing,
and urged him to do his best, promising him all the assistance it was in
their power to give.

It was resolved, therefore, that, cost what it might, the tiger should
be destroyed.

Ossaroo had other resources besides the birdlime and the battue, and he
at once set to work to prepare his plan.  He had an ample stock of
attendants, as the villagers worked eagerly and ran hither and thither
obedient to his nod.  In front of the village there was a piece of open
ground.  This was the scene of operations.

Ossaroo first commanded four large posts to be brought, and set in the
ground in a quadrangle of about eight feet in length and width.  These
posts when sunk firmly in their place stood full eight feet in height,
and each had a fork at the top.  On these forks four strong beams were
placed horizontally, and then firmly lashed with rawhide thongs.  Deep
trenches were next dug from post to post, and in these were planted rows
of strong bamboos four inches apart from each other--the bamboos
themselves being about four inches in thickness.  The earth was then
filled in, and trodden firmly, so as to render the uprights immovable.
A tier of similar bamboos was next laid horizontally upon the top, the
ends of which, interlocking with those that stood upright, held the
latter in their places.  Both were securely lashed to the frame
timbers--that had been notched for the purpose--and to one another, and
then the structure was complete.  It resembled an immense cage with
smooth yellow rods, each four inches in diameter.  The door alone was
wanting, but it was not desirable to have a door.  Although it was
intended for a "trap cage," the "bird" for which it had been constructed
was not to be admitted to the inside.

Ossaroo now called upon the villagers to provide him with a goat that
had lately had kids, and whose young were still living.  This was easily
procured.  Still another article he required, but both it and the goat
had been "bespoke" at an earlier hour of the day, and were waiting his
orders.  This last was the skin of a buffalo, such a one as we have
already seen used by these people in crossing their rivers.

When all these things had been got ready it was near night, and no time
was lost in waiting.  With the help of the villagers Ossaroo was
speedily arrayed in the skin of the buffalo, his arms and limbs taking
the place of the animal's legs, with the head and horns drawn over him
like a hood, so that his eyes were opposite the holes in the skin.

Thus metamorphosed, Ossaroo entered the bamboo cage, taking the goat
along with him.  The stake, that had been kept out for the purpose of
admitting them within the enclosure, was now set into its place as
firmly as the others; and this done, the villagers, with Karl and
Caspar, retired to their houses, and left the shikarree and his goat to
themselves.

A stranger passing the spot would have had no other thoughts than that
the cage-like enclosure contained a buffalo and a goat.  On closer
examination it might have been perceived that this buffalo held, grasped
firmly in its fore-hoofs, a strong bamboo spear; and that was all that
appeared odd about it--for it was lying down like any other buffalo,
with the goat standing beside it.

The sun had set, and night was now on.  The villagers had put out their
lights, and, shut up within their houses, were waiting in breathless
expectation.  Ossaroo, on his part, was equally anxious--not from the
fear of any danger, for he had secured himself against that.  He was
only anxious for the approach of the man-eater, in order that he might
have the opportunity to exhibit the triumph of his hunter-skill.

He was not likely to be disappointed.  The villagers had assured him
that the fierce brute was in the habit of paying them a nightly visit,
and prowling around the place for hours together.  It was only when he
had succeeded in carrying off some of their cattle that he would be
absent for days--no doubt his hunger being for the time satiated; but as
he had not lately made a capture, they looked for a visit from him on
that very night.

If the tiger should come near the village, Ossaroo had no fear that he
could attract him to the spot.  He had laid his decoy too well to fail
in this.  The goat, deprived of her young, kept up an incessant
bleating, and the kids answered her from one of the houses of the
village.  As the hunter knew from experience that the tiger has a
particular relish for goat-venison, he had no fear but that the voice of
the animal would attract him to the spot, provided he came near enough
to hear it.  In this the villagers assured him he would not be
disappointed.

He _was not disappointed_; neither was he kept long in suspense.  He had
not been more than half-an-hour in his buffalo disguise, before a loud
growling on the edge of the forest announced the approach of the dreaded
man-eater, and caused the goat to spring wildly about in the enclosure,
uttering at intervals the most piercing cries.

This was just what Ossaroo wanted.  The tiger, hearing the voice of the
goat, needed no further invitation; but in a few moments was seen
trotting boldly up to the spot.  There was no crouching on the part of
the terrible brute.  He had been too long master there to fear anything
he might encounter, and he stood in need of a supper.  The goat that he
had heard would be just the dish he should relish; and he had determined
on laying his claws upon her without more ado.  In another moment he
stood within ten feet of the cage!

The odd-looking structure puzzled him, and he halted to survey it.
Fortunately there was a moon, and the light not only enabled the tiger
to see what the cage contained, but it also gave Ossaroo an opportunity
of watching all his movements.

"Of course," thought the tiger, "it's an enclosure some of these simple
villagers have put up to keep that goat and buffalo from straying off
into the woods; likely enough, too, to keep me from getting at them.
Well, they appear to have been very particular about the building of it.
We shall see if they have made the walls strong enough."

With these reflections he drew near, and rearing upward caught one of
the bamboos in his huge paw, and shook it with violence.  The cane,
strong as a bar of iron, refused to yield even to the strength of a
tiger; and, on finding this, the fierce brute ran rapidly round the
enclosure, trying it at various places, and searching for an entrance.

There was no entrance, however; and on perceiving that there was none,
the tiger endeavoured to get at the goat by inserting his paws between
the bamboos.  The goat, however, ran frightened and screaming to the
opposite side, and so kept out of the way.  It would have served the
tiger equally well to have laid his claws upon the buffalo, but this
animal very prudently remained near the centre of the enclosure, and did
not appear to be so badly scared withal.  No doubt the coolness of the
buffalo somewhat astonished the tiger, but in his endeavours to capture
the goat, he did not stop to show his surprise, but ran round and round,
now dashing forcibly against the bamboos, and now reaching his paws
between them as far as his fore-legs would stretch.

All at once the buffalo was seen to rush towards him, and the tiger was
in great hopes of being able to reach the latter with his claws, when,
to his astonishment, he felt some hard instrument strike sharply against
his snout, and rattle upon his teeth, while the fire flew from his eyes
at the concussion.  Of course it was the _horn_ of the buffalo that had
done this; and now, rendered furious by the pain, the tiger forgot all
about the goat, and turned his attention towards revenging himself upon
the animal who had wounded him.  Several times he launched himself
savagely against the bamboos, but the canes resisted all his strength.
Just then it occurred to him that he might effect an entrance by the
top, and with one bound he sprang upon the roof of the enclosure.  This
was just what, the buffalo wished, and the broad white belly of his
assailant stretched along the open framework of bamboos, was now a fair
mark for that terrible horn.  Like a gleam of lightning it entered
between his ribs; the red blood spouted forth, the huge man-eater
screamed fiercely as he felt the deadly stab, and then, struggling for a
few minutes, his enormous body lay stretched across the rack silent,--
motionless,--dead!

A signal whistle from Ossaroo soon brought the villagers upon the spot.
The shikarree and the goat were set free.  The carcass of the man-eater
was dragged into the middle of the village amidst shouts of triumph, and
the rest of the night was devoted to feasting and rejoicing.  The
"freedom of the city" was offered to Ossaroo and his companions, and
every hospitality lavished upon them that the grateful inhabitants knew
how to bestow.



CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

KARL'S ADVENTURE WITH THE LONG-LIPPED BEAR.

Next morning they were _en route_ at an early hour; and having passed
through some cultivated fields, they once more entered the wild primeval
forest which covers most of the hills and valleys of the Terai.

Their road during the whole day was a series of ascents and descents,
now running along the bed of a stream; now upon its high bank, anon over
some projecting ridge, and at intervals crossing the stream, sometimes
by fording, and once or twice by natural bridges formed by the long
trailing roots of various species of fig-trees.

Although they were gradually ascending to a higher elevation, the
vegetation was still of a tropical character.  Pothos plants, and
broad-leaved arums, bamboos, wild plantains, and palms, were seen all
along the way, while lovely orchidaceous flowers,--epiphytes and
trailing plants,--hung down from the trunks and branches of the great
trees, forming festoons and natural trellis-work, that stretched across
the path and almost closed it up.

That was a busy day for the botanical collector.  Many rare species were
found in seed, and he gathered a load for all three, to be carried on to
their halting place, and stored until their return from the mountains.
Those species that were yet only in flower he noted down in his
memorandum-book.  They would be ripe for him on his way back.

About noon they halted to refresh themselves.  The spot they had chosen
was in a grove of purple magnolias, whose splendid flowers were in full
bloom, and scented the air around with their sweet perfume.  A crystal
stream,--a mere rivulet,--trickled in its deep bed through the midst of
the grove, and the movement of its waters seemed to produce a refreshing
coolness in the surrounding atmosphere.

They had just unbuckled their packs, intending to lunch, and remain an
hour or so on the ground, when some animal was heard moving among the
bushes on the other side of the rivulet.

Caspar and Ossaroo, ever ready for the chase, immediately seized their
weapons; and, crossing the stream, went in search of the animal, which
they supposed would turn out to be a deer.  Karl, therefore, was left by
himself.

Now Karl felt very much jaded.  He had worked hard in gathering his
seeds, and nuts, and drupes, and berries, and pericarps, and he felt
quite done up, and had some thoughts of remaining upon that spot for the
night.  Before giving up, however, he determined to try a refreshing
medicine, which he had brought with him, and in which he had been taught
to have great faith.  This medicine was nothing more than a bottle of
hot peppers pickled in vinegar, which Karl had been told by a friend was
one of the finest remedies for fatigue that could be found in the
world,--in fact, the sovereign cure,--far excelling rum or brandy, or
even the potent spirit of his native land, the kirschen-wasser.  A drop
or two of it mixed with a cup of water would impart instantaneous relief
to the weary traveller, and enable him to continue his journey like a
new man.  So Karl's friend had told him, and he was now determined to
give the pickled peppers a trial.

Taking the bottle in one hand, and his tin drinking-cup in the other, he
descended to the bed of the rivulet to fill the cup with water.

The little stream ran in a deep cut or gully, and its bed was not more
than a yard or two in width, but it was nearly empty--so that Karl as
soon as he had clambered down the steep sloping bank, found dry footing
among the pebbles.

He was just in the act of stooping to fill his cup, when he heard the
voices of Caspar and Ossaroo farther up the stream, as if they were in
pursuit of some animal.  Presently a shot rang through the woods.  Of
course it was Caspar's gun, for Caspar was heard shouting in the
direction whence the shot came.

Karl had raised himself erect, and was thinking, whether he could give
any help to the hunters, by intercepting the animal if it came his way.
He heard the voice of Caspar crying to him to "look out," and just at
the moment he did "look out," and saw coming right down upon him a large
animal covered with black shaggy hair, and a white patch upon its
breast.  At the first glance it had the look of a bear, but Karl noticed
a hunch upon its back, which gave it a very peculiar appearance, and
rendered him doubtful as to what sort of beast it was.  He had no time
to examine it very minutely--although it was close enough, for when he
first set eyes upon it, it was within six paces of where he stood.  It
was altogether too close to him, Karl thought; and so far from
endeavouring to intercept it, he tried with all his might to get out of
its way.

His first impulse was to rush up the bank.  He saw that the bear, or
whatever it was, was resolved to keep right on; and the only way to
avoid an encounter would be to leave the channel free.  He therefore
made a dash at the bank, and tried to clamber out.  The clayey slope,
however, chanced to be wet and slippery, and before Karl could reach the
top his feet flew from under him, and he came back to the bottom faster
than he had gone up.

He now found himself face to face with the bear--for it _was_ a bear--
and not six feet separated them from each other.  Neither could pass the
other in the narrow channel, and Karl knew that by turning down he would
soon be overtaken, and perhaps hugged to death.  He had no weapon--
nothing in his hand but the bottle of red peppers--what could he do?

There was not a moment left for reflection.  The bear reared upward with
a savage growl, and rushed forward to the attack.  He had almost got his
claws upon the plant-hunter, when the latter mechanically struck forward
with the battle, and, as good luck guided it, hit his assailant fair
upon the snout.  A loud smash, and the rattling of glass among the
pebbles, announced the fate of the bottle, and the red peppers, vinegar,
and all, went streaming about the head of the bear.

The brute uttered a scream of terror--such as bears will do when badly
frightened--and, wheeling away from the conflict, headed up the sloping
bank.  He succeeded in his climbing better than Karl had done; for, in
the twinkling of an eye, he had reached the top of the slope, and in the
twinkling of another eye would have disappeared among the bushes, had
not Caspar at this moment arrived upon the ground, and with his second
barrel brought him rolling back into the channel.

The bear fell dead almost at Karl's feet, and the latter stepped forward
to examine the carcass.  What was his astonishment on perceiving that
what he had taken for a hunch on the bear's back was a brace of young
cubs, that had now rolled off, and were running round the body of their
dam, whining, and snarling, and snapping like a pair of vixens!  But
Fritz at this moment rushed forward, and, after a short fierce struggle,
put an end to their lively demonstrations.

Caspar now related that when he and Ossaroo first came in sight of the
bear the cubs were upon the ground playing; but the moment he fired the
first shot--which had not hit the old bear withal--she seized the cubs
one after the other in her mouth, flung them upon her shoulders, and
then made off!

The animal that had fallen before the bullet of Caspar's gun was the
"long-lipped," or sloth-bear (_Ursus labiatus_).  The first name has
been given to this species on account of the capability it possesses of
protruding the cartilage of its nose and its lips far in advance of its
teeth, and by this means seizing its food.  It is called "sloth" bear,
because when first known it was supposed to belong to the sloths; and
its long shaggy hair, its rounded back, and the apparently unwieldy and
deformed contour of its whole body, gave some colour to the idea.  These
marks of ugliness, combined with its sagacity--which enables the Indian
jugglers to train it to a variety of tricks--render this species of bear
a favourite with them, and on this account it is also known by the name
of the "Ours de jongleurs," or "Jugglers' bear."

The sloth-bear is long-haired and shaggy, of a deep black colour, except
under the throat, where there is a white mark shaped like the letter Y.
It is nearly as large as the black bear of America, and its habits in a
state of nature are very similar to this species.  It will not attack
man unless closely pressed or wounded; and had Karl been able to get out
of her way, the old she would not have followed him, savage as she was
from being shot at by Caspar.

No doubt the "pickle" had helped him out of a worse pickle.  The peppery
vinegar getting into the eyes of the bear quite confounded her, and
caused her to turn tail.  But for that Karl might have undergone a hug
and a sharp scratch or two, and he might well be thankful--as he was--
that he had escaped with no more serious damage than the loss of his
precious peppers.



CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

OSSAROO IN TROUBLE.

Fritz had scarce finished his battle with the young bears, with Karl and
Caspar standing over him, when a loud shouting drew the attention of all
to another quarter.  The shouting evidently proceeded from Ossaroo, as
the boys could distinguish his voice.  The shikarree was in trouble--as
they could easily understand by his shrill continued screams--and the
words "Help!  Sahibs, help!" which he repeatedly uttered.

What could be the matter with Ossaroo?  Had another bear attacked him?
Maybe a panther, or a lion, or a tiger?  No matter what it was, both
Karl and Caspar felt it to be their duty to hasten to his assistance;
and without more ado both of them started off in the direction whence
came the shouts.  Karl had got possession of his rifle, and Caspar
hastily rammed a load into the right-hand barrel, so that both were in
readiness to offer good help to the guide, if it should turn out to be a
wild beast that was his assailant.

In a few moments, they came in sight of Ossaroo; and, to their great
relief, saw that no animal was near him.  Neither bear nor panther, nor
lion nor tiger, appeared upon the spot Ossaroo, however still continued
his noisy cries for help; and, to the astonishment of the boys, they saw
him dancing about over the ground, now stooping his head downwards, now
leaping up several feet, his arms all the while playing about, and
striking out as if at some imaginary enemy!

What could it all mean?  Had Ossaroo gone mad?  Or had he become
suddenly afflicted with the malady of Saint Vitus?  His movements were
altogether of a comical nature; no mountebank could have danced about
with more agility; and, but for the earnestness of his cries, evidently
forced from him by fear, both Karl and Caspar would have burst out into
a fit of laughter.  They saw, however, that the shikarree was in some
danger--from what, they could not tell; but they very naturally
suspected that he had been attacked by a venomous serpent, and, perhaps,
already bitten by it.  It might still be attacking him, _perhaps under
his clothes_, and that was why they could not perceive it.

This idea restrained them from laughter, for, if their conjecture proved
correct, it would be no laughing matter for poor Ossaroo; and, with fear
in their hearts, both the boys rushed forward to the spot.

On getting nearer, however, the odd behaviour of the shikarree was
explained, and the enemy with which he was contending, and which had
hitherto remained invisible, came under their view.  Around the head of
Ossaroo there appeared a sort of misty halo, encircling him like a
glory; which, on closer view, the boys perceived was neither more nor
less than a _swarm of bees_!

The whole matter was cleared up.  Ossaroo had been assailed by bees; and
it was they that were making him dance and fling his arms about in so
wild a manner!

Karl and Caspar had forborne to laugh, so long as they believed their
guide to be in real danger; but now that they saw what it was, they
could no more restrain their mirth, and both simultaneously broke out
into a fit of cachinnation, that caused the woods to ring again.

On seeing how his young companions sympathised with his distress,
Ossaroo was by no means pleased.  The stings of the bees had nettled the
Hindoo's temper, and the laughter of the boys exasperated him still
more.  He resolved, therefore, that they should both have a taste of the
same trouble; and, without saying another word, he rushed between the
two; of course, carrying the swarm of bees along with him.

This unexpected manoeuvre on the part of the guide, at once put, an end
to the merriment of his companions; and the next moment, instead of
enjoying a laugh at Ossaroo's expense, both of themselves exhibited a
spectacle equally ludicrous.  The bees, on perceiving these new enemies,
at once separated into three distinct swarms, each swarm selecting its
victim; so that not only Ossaroo, but Karl and Caspar as well, now
danced over the ground like acrobats.  Even Fritz was attacked by a
few--enough to make him scamper around, and snap at his own legs as if
he had suddenly gone mad!

Karl and Caspar soon learnt, that what had so lately amused them was by
no means a thing to be amused at.  They were stung about the face, and
found the stings to be exceedingly virulent and painful.  Besides, the
number of their assailants rendered the affair one of considerable
danger.  They began to feel that there was peril as well as pain.

Where was it to end?  All their demonstrations failed to drive off the
bees.  Run where they would, the enraged insects followed them, buzzing
about their ears, and alighting whenever an opportunity offered.  Where
was it to end?

It was difficult to tell when and how the scene would have been brought
to a termination, had it not been for Ossaroo himself.  The cunning
Hindoo had bethought him of a plan, and, calling to the others to follow
him, was seen to run forward in a direct line through the woods.

Karl and Caspar started after, in hopes of finding relief from their
tormentors.

In a few minutes, Ossaroo approached the bank of the stream, at a place
where it was dammed up, and formed a reach of deep water--a pool.
Without hesitating a moment, the Hindoo plunged into the water.  The
boys, flinging down their guns, imitated his example; and all three
stood side by side, neck-deep in the pool.  They now commenced ducking
their heads under, and continued this, at intervals; until at length the
bees, finding themselves in danger of being drowned, gave up the attack,
and, one after another, winged their way back into the woods.

After remaining long enough in the pool, to make sure that their enemies
had gone quite away, the three smarting hunters climbed out, and stood
dripping upon the bank.  They would have laughed at the whole adventure,
but the pain of the stings put them out of all humour for enjoying a
joke; and, out of sorts altogether, they quietly wended their way back
to the place of their temporary encampment.

On their way, Ossaroo explained how he had chanced to provoke the attack
of the bees.  On hearing the report of Caspar's gun, and the noise of
the conflict between Fritz and the bears, he had started in great haste
to get up to the spot, and give assistance.  In running forward, he
scarce looked before him; and was dashing recklessly through among
trees, when his head came in contact with a large bees' nest, which was
suspended upon a vine that stretched across the path.  The nest was
constructed out of agglutinated mud, and attached only slightly to the
vine; and Ossaroo, having become entangled in the latter, shook it so
violently that the nest fell down, broke into pieces, and set the whole
swarm of angry bees about his ears.  It was just then that he had been
heard crying out, and that Karl and Caspar had run to his rescue; which
act both of them now said they very much regretted.  They were hardly in
earnest, however; and Ossaroo, having procured an herb from the woods,
the sap of which soon alleviated the pain of the stings, in a short time
the tempers of all three were restored to their usual equanimity.



CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

THE AXIS AND PANTHER.

The maternal solicitude displayed by the bear in endeavouring to carry
her young out of danger, had quite won the admiration of the
plant-hunters; and now that the excitement of the conflict was over,
they experienced some pangs of regret at having killed the creature.
But the thing was done, and could not be helped.  Besides, as Ossaroo
informed them, these bears are esteemed a great nuisance in the country.
Descending from their mountain retreats, or issuing out of the jungle
during the season of the crops, they commit very destructive
depredations upon the produce of the farmer, often entering his very
garden without fear, and in a single night laying waste the contents of
a whole enclosure.  On hearing this, both Karl and Caspar were more
contented with what they had done.  Perhaps, reflected they, had these
two cubs lived to grow up, they or their mother might have devastated
the paddy-field of some poor jemindar, or farmer, and he and his family
might have been put to great distress by it.

Whether or not their reasoning was correct, it satisfied the two boys,
and quieted their consciences about the killing of the bears.  But as
they continued their journey, they still conversed of the curious
circumstance of the old one carrying off her cubs in the manner she was
doing.  Karl had read of such a habit in animals--which is common to
many other sorts along with the bears--such as the great ant-eater of
South America, the opossum, and most kinds of monkeys.  Both agreed that
it was a pretty trait in the character of the lower animals, and proved
even the most savage of them capable of tender affection.

It chanced that upon that same day they had another illustration of this
very nature, and one that by good fortune did not have so tragical an
ending.

They had finished their day's journey, and were reclining under a great
_talauma_ tree--a species of magnolia, with very large leaves--by the
edge of a little glade.  They had not yet made any preparations for
their camp.  The day's march had been a severe one, for they were now
among the foot-hills of the great Himalaya chain; and though they
appeared to travel as much down hill as up they were in reality
ascending, and by evening they were really more than five thousand feet
above the plains of India.  They had arrived in a new zone of
vegetation, among the great forests of magnolias which gird the middle
parts of the mountains.  It is in this part of the world that the
remarkable genus of magnolia is found in its greatest vigour and
variety; and many species of these trees, in forests of vast extent,
cover and adorn the declivities of the lower Himalayas.  There are the
white-flowered magnolias, at an elevation of from four thousand to eight
thousand feet, which are then replaced by the still more gorgeous purple
magnolia (_Magnolia Campbellia_)--the latter being the most superb
species known, its brilliant corollas often arraying the sloping sides
of the hills as with a robe of purple.  Here, too, our travellers
observed chestnut-trees of rare species, and several kinds of oak--
laurels also, not in the form of humble shrubs, but rising as tall
trees, with straight smooth boles, to the height of the oaks themselves.
Maples, too, were seen mingling in the forest, and the tree
rhododendrons growing forty feet high!

What appeared singular to the eyes of the botanist, was the mingling of
many European forms of plants among those of a strictly tropical
character.  For instance, there were birches, willows, alders, and
walnut-trees, growing side by side with the wild plantain, the Wallich
palm, and gigantic bamboos; while the great _Cedrela Toona_, figs of
several species, _melastomas_, balsams, _pothos_ plants, peppers, and
gigantic climbing vines and orchids, were intermixed with speedwell,
common bramble, forget-me-not, and stinging-nettles, just such as might
have been met with in a European field!  Tree ferns were seen rising up
and towering high above the common brake-fern of the English moors;
while the wild strawberry of Britain was seen covering the ground in
patches of large extent.  Its fruit, however, in the Himalayas is quite
insipid, but a fine yellow raspberry--one of the most luscious fruits
met with in these mountains--was found growing in the same districts, as
if to compensate for the absence of flavour in the strawberry.

Under one of these magnificent magnolias, whose large wax-like corollas
filled the air with their odorous perfume, our travellers had just
stretched themselves--intending, after a few minutes of rest, to make
the necessary arrangements for passing the night there.

Ossaroo was chewing his betel-nut, and Karl and Caspar, both very tired,
were doing nothing and saying as little.  Fritz, too, lay along the
ground, with his tongue out, and panting after the hot day's rambling
among the bushes.

Just at that moment, Caspar, whose sharp hunter eye was always on the
alert, caught Karl by the sleeve, and in a hurried whisper, said--

"See, Karl! see!--Isn't it a beauty?"

As Caspar said this, he pointed to an animal that had just come out of
the jungle, and stood within a few feet of its edge.  The creature in
question had the shape, size, and general appearance of a fallow-deer,
and its slender limbs and well proportioned body bespoke it to be a near
kin to that animal.  In colour, however, it essentially differed from
the fallow-deer.  Its ground-colour was much the same, but it was
spotted all over with snow-white spots that gave it a very beautiful
appearance.  It looked somewhat like the young of the fallow-deer, and
might have been taken for an overgrown fawn.  Karl, however, knew what
it was.

"A spotted deer," he replied, also in a whisper.  "It is the _axis_.
Hold back Fritz, and let us watch it a moment."

Karl had guessed correctly what kind of animal it was.  It was the axis,
one of the best known of the Indian deer, and closely allied to the
_linsa_ group of Asia as well as to the fallow-deer of Europe.  There
are several species of the axis in eastern Asia, more or less marked
with spots, and in no part are they more common than in the country
through which the plant-hunters were passing--the country of the Ganges
and the Burrampooter.

Caspar caught Fritz as desired, and held him fast; and the travellers,
without making any noise, sat watching the movements of the axis.

To their surprise, another axis now showed itself upon the ground, but
this one was of such small dimensions that they saw at once it was the
young of the first.  It was a tiny little fawn, but a few days old, and
speckled all over with similar snow-white spots.

The deer, unconscious of the presence of the travellers, walked several
paces out upon the meadow, and commenced browsing upon the grass.  The
little fawn knew not, as yet, how to eat grass; and occupied itself by
skipping and playing about its mother, like a kid.

The hunters, all speaking in whispers, now counselled among themselves
as to what they should do.  Ossaroo would have liked a bit of venison
for supper, and, certainly, the fawn was a tempting _morceau_.  Caspar
voted to kill; but Karl, of gentler nature, opposed this design.

"A pity!" he said.  "Look, brother, how gentle they appear?  Remember
how we felt after killing the savage bear, and this would be far worse."

While engaged in this undertone discussion, a new party made his
appearance upon the scene, which drove all thoughts of killing the deer
out of the minds both of Caspar and Ossaroo.

This intruder was an animal quite as large as the axis, but of an
entirely different form.  Its ground-colour was not unlike that of the
deer, with a deeper tinge of yellow, and it, too, was spotted all over
the body.  Herein, however, a striking contrast existed between the two.
As already stated, the spots upon the axis were snow-white; while those
upon the new comer were just the reverse--black as jet.  Spots they
could hardly be termed, though, at a distance, they presented that
appearance.  When closely viewed, however, it would have been seen that
they were rather rosettes, or rings; the centre part being of the same
yellowish ground-colour as the rest of the body.

The animal had a stout, low body; short, but strong limbs; a long,
tapering tail, and a cat-like head.  The last is not to be wondered at,
since it was in reality a cat.  It was the _panther_.

The attention of the hunters was at once taken away from the axis, and
became fixed on the great spotted cat, which all three knew to be a
panther; next to the lion and tiger, the most formidable of Asiatic
_felida_.

All knew that the Indian panther often attacks man; and it was,
therefore, with no very comfortable feelings that they hailed his
appearance.  The boys grasped their guns more firmly, and Ossaroo his
bow, ready to give the panther the volley, should he approach within
range.

The latter, however, had no design of molesting the travellers.  He was
unaware of their presence.  His whole attention was occupied with the
axis; upon whose ribs, or, perhaps, those of the fawn, he intended to
make his supper.

With crouching gait and silent tread he approached his intended victims,
stealing along the edge of the jungle.  In a few seconds, he was near
enough to spring, and, as yet, the poor doe browsed unconsciously.  He
was just setting his paws for the leap, and, in all probability, would
have pounced next moment upon the back of the deer, but, just in the
nick of time, Caspar chanced to sneeze.  It was not done designedly, or
with, any intention of warning the deer; for all three of the hunters
were so absorbed in watching the manoeuvres of the panther, that they
never thought of such a thing.  Perhaps the powerful odour of the
magnolia blossoms had been the cause; but, whether or no, Caspar
sneezed.

That sneeze was a good thing.  It saved the tender mother and her gentle
fawn from the fangs of the ferocious panther.  She heard it, and,
raising her head on the instant, glanced round.  The crouching cat came
under her eyes; and, without losing a second of time, she sprang up to
the fawn, seized the astonished little creature in her mouth, and,
bounding like an arrow across the glade, was soon out of sight, having
disappeared into the jungle on the opposite side!

The panther, who had either not heard or not regarded the sneeze, sprang
out, as he had intended, but missed his aim.  He ran a few stretches,
rose into the air, and, a second time, came down without touching the
deer; and then, seeing that the latter had sped beyond his reach,
according to the usual habit of all the _felidae_, he desisted from
farther pursuit.  Trotting back whence he had come, he entered the
jungle before the hunters could get within shooting distance of him, and
was never more seen by any of the three.

As they returned to camp, Karl congratulated Caspar for having sneezed
so opportunely; though Caspar acknowledged that it was quite accidental,
and that, for his part, he would rather he had not sneezed at all, and
that he had either got a shot at the panther, or had a bit of the fawn
for his supper.



CHAPTER NINETEEN.

THE PESTS OF THE TROPICS.

Much has been said and written in praise of the bright sun and the blue
skies of tropical countries; and travellers have dilated largely upon
the magnificent fruits, flowers, and foliage of tropical forests.  One
who has never visited these southern climes is disposed to indulge in
very fanciful dreams of enjoyment there.  Life would seem to be
luxurious; every scene appears to be _couleur de rose_.

But Nature has not designed that any portion of her territory should be
favoured beyond the rest to such an extreme degree; and, perhaps, if a
just comparison were instituted, it would be found that the Esquimaux,
shivering in his hut of snow, enjoys as much personal happiness as the
swarth southerner, who swings in his hammock under the shade of a banyan
or a palm-tree.

The clime of the torrid zone, with its luxuriant vegetation, is also
prolific of insect and reptile life; and, from this very circumstance,
the denizen of a hot country is often subject to a greater amount of
personal discomfort than the dweller in the Arctic zone.  Even the
scarcity of vegetable food, and the bitter, biting frost, are far easier
to endure than the plague of tipulary insects and reptiles, which swarm
between Cancer and Capricorn.

It is a well-known fact, that there are large districts in tropical
America where human life is scarce endurable, on account of the
mosquitos, gnats, ants, and other insects.

Thus writes the great Prussian geognosist:--

"Persons who have not navigated the rivers of equinoctial America can
scarcely conceive how, at every instant, without intermission, you may
be tormented by insects flying in the air, and how the multitudes of
these little animals may render vast regions almost uninhabitable.
Whatever fortitude be exercised to endure pain without complaint,
whatever interest may be felt in the objects of scientific research, it
is impossible not to be constantly disturbed by the mosquitos, zancudos,
jejens, and tempraneros, that cover the face and hands, pierce the
clothes with their long, needle-formed suckers; and, getting into the
mouth and nostrils, occasion coughing and sneezing, whenever any attempt
is made to speak in the open air.

"In the missions of the Orinoco, in the villages on the banks of the
river, surrounded by immense forests, the _plaga de las moscas_, or
plague of the mosquitos, affords an inexhaustible subject of
conversation.  When two persons meet in the morning, the first questions
they address to each other are: `How did you find the zancudos during
the night?'  `How are we to-day for the mosquitos?'

"An atmosphere filled with venomous insects always appears to be more
heated than it is in reality.  We were horribly tormented in the day by
mosquitos and the jejen (a small venomous fly), and at night by the
zancudos, a large species of gnat, dreaded even by the natives.

"At different hours of the day you are stung by different species.
Every time that the scene changes, and, to use the simple expression of
the missionaries, other insects `mount guard,' you have a few minutes--
often a quarter of an hour, of repose.  The insects that disappear have
not their places instantly supplied by their successors.  From half-past
six in the morning till live in the afternoon the air is filled with
mosquitos.  An hour before sunset a species of small gnats--called
tempraneros, because they appear also at sunrise--take the place of the
mosquitos.  Their presence scarcely lasts an hour and a half.  They
disappear between six and seven in the evening.  After a few minutes'
repose, you feel yourself stung by zancudos, another species of gnat,
with very long legs.  The zancudo, the proboscis of which contains a
sharp-pointed sucker, causes the most acute pain, and a swelling that
remains several weeks.

"The means that are employed to escape from these little plagues are
very extraordinary.  At Maypures the Indians quit the village at night
to go and sleep on the little islets in the midst of the cataracts.
There they enjoy some rest, the mosquitos appearing to shun air loaded
with vapours.

"Between the little harbour of Higuerote and the mouth of the Rio Unare
the wretched inhabitants are accustomed to stretch themselves on the
ground, and pass the night buried in the sand three or four inches deep,
leaving out the head only, which they cover with a handkerchief.

"At Mandanaca we found an old missionary, who told us with an air of
sadness that he had had his `twenty years of mosquitos' in America.  He
desired us to look at his legs, that we might be able to tell one day
beyond sea `what the poor monks suffer in the forests of Cassiquiare.'
Every sting leaving a small darkish brown spot, his legs were so
speckled that it was difficult to recognise the whiteness of his skin,
through the spots of coagulated blood!"

Just such torments as the great Prussian traveller suffered from insects
in the forests of South America, our plant-hunters had to endure while
passing through the humid woods of the Lower Himalayas.  By night and by
day the air seemed filled with insects, in countless swarms,--large and
small moths, cockchafers, glow-flies, cockroaches, winged ants,
may-flies, flying earwigs, beetles, and "daddy longlegs."  They
experienced the bite of ants or the stings of mosquitoes every moment,
or they were attacked by large ticks, a species of which infests the
bamboo, and which is one of the most hateful of insects.  These the
traveller cannot avoid coming in contact with while brushing through the
forest.  They get inside his dress, often in great numbers, and insert
their proboscis deeply, but without pain.  Buried head and shoulders,
and retained by its barbed lancet, this tick can only be extracted with
great force, and the operation is exceedingly painful.

But of the tortures to which they were subjected by insects and
reptiles, there was one more disagreeable and disgusting than all the
rest, and on their first experience of it the three were quite
horrified.

It happened to them on the very day after their adventure with the bear
and the bees.  They had walked several miles for their morning stage,
and the sun having grown quite hot, they agreed to rest for some hours
till afternoon.  Having thrown off their packs and accoutrements, all
three lay down upon the grass close by the edge of a little stream, and
under the shadow of a spreading tree.  The fatigue of the walk, combined
with the heated atmosphere, had rendered them drowsy, and one and all of
them fell fast asleep.

Caspar was the first to awake.  He did not feel quite comfortable during
his sleep.  The mosquitos or some other kind of insects appeared to be
biting him, and this had prevented him from sleeping soundly.  He awoke
at length and sat upright.  The others were still asleep close by, and
the eyes of Caspar by chance rested upon Ossaroo, whose body was more
than half naked, the slight cotton tunic having fallen aside and exposed
his breast to view; besides, his legs were bare, as the shikarree had
rolled up his trousers on account of the damp grass they had been
passing through.  What was the astonishment of Caspar at perceiving the
naked part of Ossaroo's body mottled with spots of dark and red--the
latter being evidently blotches of blood!  Caspar perceived that some of
the dark spots were in motion, now lengthening out, and then closing up
again into a smaller compass; and it was only after he had drawn closer,
and examined these objects more minutely that he was able to determine
what they were.  They were _leeches!  Ossaroo was covered with leeches_!

Caspar uttered a cry that awoke both of his companions on the instant.

Ossaroo was not a little disgusted with the fix he found himself in, but
Karl and Caspar did not waste much time in condoling with him, for upon
examination they found that they themselves had fared no better, both of
them being literally covered with the same bloodthirsty reptiles.

A scene now ensued that would not be easy to describe.  All three pulled
off their garments, and went to work to extract the leeches with their
fingers--for there was no other mode of getting rid of the troublesome
intruders--and after a full half-hour spent in picking one another
clean, they rapidly dressed again, and took the route, desirous of
getting away from that spot as quickly as possible.

Of all the pests of warm Oriental climates, there are none so
troublesome to the traveller, or so disgusting, as these land-leeches.
They infest the humid woods on the slopes of the Himalaya Mountains from
about two thousand to eleven thousand feet of elevation; but they are
not confined to the Himalayas alone, as they are common in the mountain
forests of Ceylon, Sumatra, and other parts of the Indies.  There are
many species of them--and even upon the Himalayas more than one kind--
the small black species swarming above the elevation of three thousand
feet, while a large yellow kind, more solitary, is found farther down.
They are not only troublesome and annoying, but dangerous.  They often
crawl into the fauces, noses, and stomachs of human beings, where they
produce dreadful sufferings and even death.  Cattle are subject to their
attacks; and hundreds perish in this way--the cause of their death not
being always understood, and usually attributed to some species of
vermin.

It is almost impossible to keep them off the person while travelling
through a track of woods infested by them.  If the traveller only sit
down for a moment, they crawl upon him without being perceived.  They
are exceedingly active, and move with surprising rapidity.  Indeed, some
fancy they have the power to spring from the ground.  Certain it is that
they possess the powers of contraction and extension to a very great
degree.  When fully extended they appear as thin as a thread, and the
next moment they can clue themselves up like a pea.  This power enables
them to pass rapidly from point to point, and also to penetrate into the
smallest aperture.  They are said to possess an acute sense of smell,
and guided by this they approach the traveller the moment he sits down.
They will crowd up from all quarters, until fifty or a hundred crawl
upon one person in a few minutes' time, so that one is kept busy in
removing them as fast as they appear.

They occur in greatest numbers in moist shady woods, and cover the
leaves when heavy dew is on them.  In rain they are more numerous than
at other times, and then they infest the paths; whereas in dry weather
they betake themselves into the streams, or the thickly-shaded interior
of the jungle.

Those who know not their haunts, their love of blood, their keenness and
immense numbers, cannot understand the disgust and annoyance experienced
from them by travellers.  They get into the hair, hang by the eyelids,
crawl up the legs, or down the back, and fasten themselves under the
instep of the foot; and if not removed, gorge themselves with blood till
they roll off.  Often the traveller finds his boots filled with these
hideous creatures when arrived at the end of his day's journey.  Their
wound at the time produces no pain, but it causes a sore afterwards,
which is frequently months in healing, and leaves a scar that remains
for years!

Many antidotes are adopted, and tobacco-juice or snuff will keep them
off when applied over the skin; but in passing through moist woods and
the long wet jungle-grass, such applications require to be continually
renewed, and it becomes so troublesome and vexatious to take these
precautions, that most travellers prefer wearing long boots, tucking in
their trousers, and then keeping a good lookout for these insidious
crawlers.



CHAPTER TWENTY.

THE MUSK-DEER.

A few days' more journeying up the mountains brought our travellers to
the limits of the forest.  They once more looked upon the snowy peaks of
the great central chain towering up into the clouds.  I say once more--
for they had already seen these peaks from the plains of India while
still more than a hundred miles distant from them; but, as they
approached nearer, and while advancing through the foot-hills, the
snow-covered mountains had no longer been in sight!

This may appear a puzzle, but it is very easily explained.  When very
near to a house you will be unable to see the steeple of a church that
is behind it; whereas by going to a greater distance from the house, the
higher steeple comes at once before your eyes.

So is it with mountains.  From a great distance their highest peaks are
those that may be seen, but as you draw nearer, their lower range, or
foot-hills, subtend the angle of vision; and it is only after having
passed through, or over these, that you again behold the more elevated
summits.

Our travellers were now in sight of the snowy summits of the Himalayas,
several of which rose to the stupendous height of five miles above the
level of the sea--one or two even exceeding this elevation.

Of course it was not the design of the plant-hunters to attempt to climb
to the tops of any of these gigantic mountains.  That they well knew
would not be possible, as it is almost certain that at such an elevation
a human being could not live.  Karl, however, was determined to proceed
as far as vegetation extended; for he believed that many rare and choice
plants might be found even as high as the snow-line; and indeed there
are several species of beautiful rhododendrons, and junipers, and pines,
which grow only in what may be termed the "Arctic zone" of the
Himalayas.

With this idea, then, the travellers kept on--each day getting higher,
and farther into the heart of the great chain.

For two or three days they had been climbing through wild desolate
valleys, quite without inhabitants; yet they were able to find plenty of
food, as in these valleys there were animals of various kinds, and with
their guns they had no difficulty in procuring a supply of meat.  They
found the "talin," a species of wild goat, the male of which often
attains to the weight of three hundred pounds, and a fine species of
deer known in the Himalayas as the "serow."  They also shot one or two
wild sheep, known by the name of "burrell," and an antelope called
"gooral," which is the "chamois" of the Indian Alps.

It may be as well here to remark, that in the vast extended chain of the
Himalayas, as well as throughout the high mountain steppes of Asia,
there exist wild sheep and wild goats, as well as deer and antelopes, of
a great many species that have never been described by naturalists.
Indeed, but little more is known of them than what has been obtained
from the notes of a few enterprising English sportsmen.  It would be
safe to conjecture that there are in Asia a dozen species of wild sheep,
and quite as many belonging to the goat-tribe; and when that continent
shall be thoroughly explored by scientific travellers, a very large
addition will be made to the catalogue of ruminant animals.  Nearly
every extensive valley or chain of the Asiatic mountains possesses some
species of the sheep or goat-tribe peculiar to itself, and differing
from all others of the same genus; and in ascending the stupendous
heights of the Himalayas you find that every stage of elevation has its
peculiar species.  Some dwell in dense forests, others in those that are
thin and open.  Some prefer the grassy slopes, while others affect the
barren ridges of rock.  There are those that are found only upon the
very limits of vegetation, spending most of their lives within the
region of eternal snow.  Among these are the famed ibex and the large
wild sheep known as the _Ovis ammon_.

There was none of the Himalayan animals that interested our travellers
more than the curious little creature known as the "musk-deer."  This is
the animal from which the famous scent is obtained; and which is
consequently a much persecuted creature.  It dwells in the Himalayan
Mountains, ranging from an elevation of about eight thousand feet to the
limits of perpetual snow, and is an object of the chase to the hunters
of these regions, who make their living by collecting the musk and
disposing of it to the merchants of the plains.  The animal itself is a
small creature, less in size than our fallow-deer, and of a speckled
brownish grey colour, darker on the hind-quarters.  Its head is small,
its ears long and upright, and it is without horns.

A peculiarity exists in the males which renders them easy to be
distinguished from other animals of the deer kind.  They have a pair of
tusks in the upper jaw projecting downwards, each full three inches in
length, and about as thick as a goose's quill.  These give to the animal
altogether a peculiar appearance.  The males only yield the musk, which
is found in grains, or little pellets, inside a sac or pod in the skin,
situated near the navel; but what produces this singular substance, or
what purpose it serves in the economy of the animal, it is not easy to
say.  It has proved its worst foe.  But for the musk this harmless
little deer would be comparatively a worthless object of the chase; but
as it is, the valuable commodity has created for it a host of enemies,
who follow no other occupation but that of hunting it to the death.

The plant-hunters had several times seen musk-deer as they journeyed up
the mountain; but as the animal is exceedingly shy, and one of the
swiftest of the deer kind, they had not succeeded in getting a shot.
They were all the more anxious to procure one, from the very difficulty
which they had met with in doing so.

One day as they were proceeding up a very wild ravine, among some
stunted juniper and rhododendron bushes, they started from his lair one
of the largest musk-deer they had yet seen.  As he kept directly on, and
did not seem to run very fast, they determined to pursue him.  Fritz,
therefore, was put upon his trail, and the others followed as fast as
they were able to get over the rough ground.

They had not gone far, when the baying of the dog told them that the
chase had forsaken the ravine in which they had first started it, and
had taken into a lateral valley.

On arriving at the mouth of this last, they perceived that it was filled
by a glacier.  This did not surprise them, as they had already seen
several glaciers in the mountain valleys, and they were every hour
getting farther within the region of these icy phenomena.

A sloping path enabled them to reach the top of the glacier, and they
now perceived the tracks of the deer.  Some snow had fallen and still
lay unmelted upon the icy surface, and in this the foot-prints of the
animal were quite distinct, Fritz had stopped at the end of the glacier,
as if to await further instructions; but without hesitation the hunters
climbed up on the ice, and followed the trail.



CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.

THE GLACIER.

For more than a mile they toiled up the sloping glacier which all the
way lay between two vertical cliffs.

That the musk-deer was still in advance of them, they had evidence from
the imprint of its tracks.  Even without this evidence they could not
doubt that the game was still before them.  It would have been
impossible for it to have scaled the cliffs on either side, so far as
they had yet seen them; and as far before them as they could see, both
sides appeared equally steep and impracticable.

As the hunters advanced, the cliffs gradually converged; and at the
distance of a few hundred yards before them, appeared to close in--as if
the ravine ended there, and there was no outlet in that direction.  In
fact they appeared to be approaching the apex of a very acute angle, the
sides of which were formed by the black granite cliffs.

This singular formation was just what the hunters desired.  If the
valley ended in a _cul-de-sac_, then the game would be hemmed in by
their approach, and they might have a chance of obtaining a shot.

In order the more surely to accomplish this, they separated, and
deployed themselves into a line which extended completely across the
valley.  In this formation they continued to advance upward.

When they first adopted this plan, the ravine was about four hundred
yards in width--so that less than one hundred lay between each two of
them.  These equal distances they preserved as well as they could, but
now and then the cracks in the icy mass, and the immense boulders that
lay over its surface, obliged one or other, of them to make considerable
detours.  As they advanced, however, the distance between each two grew
less, in consequence of the narrowing of the valley, until at length a
space of only fifty yards separated one from the other.  The game could
not now pass them without affording a fine opportunity for all to have a
shot; and with the expectation of soon obtaining one, they kept on in
high spirits.

All at once their hopes appeared to be frustrated.  The whole line came
to a halt, and the hunters stood regarding each other with blank looks.
Directly in front of them yawned an immense crevasse in the ice, full
five yards in width at the top, and stretching across the glacier from
cliff to cliff.

A single glance into this great fissure convinced them that it was
impassable.  Their hunt was at an end.  They could go no farther.  Such
was the conviction of all.

The glacier filled the whole ravine from cliff to cliff.  There was no
space or path between the ice and the rocky wall.  The latter rose
vertically upward for five hundred feet at least, and no doubt extended
downward to as great a depth.  Indeed, by looking into the fissure, they
could trace the wall of rock to an immense distance downward, ending in
the green cleft of the ice below.  To look down into that terrible abyss
made their heads reel with giddiness; and they could only do so with
safety by crawling up to the edge of the lye, and peeping over.

A glance convinced one and all of them that the crevasse was impassable.

But how had the deer got over it?  Surely it had not leaped that fearful
chasm?

But surely it had.  Close by the edge its tracks were traced in the
snow, and there, upon the lower side of the cleft, was the spot from
which it had sprung.  On the opposite brink the disarrangement of the
snow told where it had alighted, having cleared a space of sixteen or
eighteen feet!  This, however, was nothing to a musk-deer, that upon a
deal level often bounds to more than twice that length; for these
animals have been known to spring down a slope to the enormous distance
of sixty feet!

The leap over the crevasse, therefore, fearful as it appeared in the
eyes of our hunters, was nothing to the musk-deer, who is as nimble and
sure-footed as the chamois itself.

"Enough!" said Karl, after they had stood for some minutes gazing into
the lye.  "There's no help for it; we must go back as we came--what says
Ossaroo?"

"You speakee true, Sahib--no help for we--we no get cross--too wide
leapee--no bridge--no bamboo for makee bridge--no tree here."

Ossaroo shook his head despondingly as he spoke.  He was vexed at losing
the game--particularly as the buck was one of the largest, and might
have yielded an ounce or two of musk, which, as Ossaroo well knew, was
worth a guinea an ounce in the bazaars of Calcutta.

The Hindoo glanced once more across the lye, and then turning round,
uttered an exclamation, which told that he was beaten.

"Well, then, let us go back!" said Karl.

"Stay, brother!" interrupted Caspar, "a thought strikes me.  Had we not
better remain here for a while?  The deer cannot be far off.  It is, no
doubt, up near the end of the ravine; but it won't stay there long.
There appears to be nothing for it to eat but rocks or snow, and it
won't be contented with that.  If there's no outlet above, it must come
back this way.  Now I propose we lie in wait for it a while, and take it
as it comes down again.  What say you to my plan?"

"I see no harm in trying it, Caspar," replied Karl.  "We had better
separate, however, and each hide behind a boulder, else it may see us,
and stay back.  We shall give it an hour."

"Oh!" said Caspar, "I think it'll tire of being cooped up in less time
than that; but we shall see."

The party now spread themselves right and left along the lower edge of
the crevasse--each choosing a large rock or mass of snowy ice as a
cover.  Caspar went to the extreme left, and even to the edge of the
glacier, where a number of large rocks rested on its surface.  Having
entered among these, he was hidden from the others, but presently they
heard him calling out--

"Hurrah! come here!--a bridge! a bridge!"

Karl and Ossaroo left their hiding-places, and hastened to the spot.

On arriving among the boulders, they saw, to their delight, that one of
the largest of these--an enormous block of gneiss--lay right across the
crevasse, spanning it like a bridge, and looking as though it had been
placed there by human hands!  This, however, would have been impossible,
as the block was full ten yards in length, and nearly as broad as it was
long.  Even giants could not have built such a bridge!

A little examination showed where it had fallen from the overhanging
precipice--and it had rested on the glacier, perhaps, before the great
cleft had yawned open beneath it.  Its upper end overlapped the ice for
a breadth of scarce two feet, and it seemed a wonder that so huge a
weight could be sustained by such an apparently fragile prop.  But there
it rested; and had done so for years--perhaps for ages--suspended over
the beetling chasm, as if the touch of a feather would precipitate it
into the gulf below!

If Karl had been near, he might have warned his brother from crossing by
such a dangerous bridge; but before he had reached the spot, Caspar had
already mounted on the rock, and was hurrying over.

In a few moments he stood upon the opposite side of the crevasse; and,
waving his cap in the air, shouted to the rest to follow.

The others crossed as he had done, and then the party once more
deployed, and kept up the ravine, which grew narrower as they advanced,
and appeared to be regularly closed in at the lop, by a perpendicular
wall.  Surely the deer could not escape them much longer?

"What a pity," said Caspar, "we could not throw down that great stone
and widen the crack in the ice, so that the deer could not leap over it!
We should then have it nicely shut up here."

"Ay, Caspar," rejoined Karl, "and where should _we_ be then?  Shut up
too, I fear."

"True, brother, I did not think of that.  What a terrible thing it would
be to be imprisoned between these black cliffs!  It would, I declare."

The words had scarce issued from Caspar's lip, when a crash was heard
like the first bursting of a thunderclap, and then a deafening roar
echoed up the ravine, mingled with louder peals, as though the eternal
mountains were being rent asunder!

The noise reverberated from the black cliffs; eagles, that had been
perched upon the rocks, rose screaming into the air; beasts of prey
howled from their lurking-places; and the hitherto silent valley was all
at once filled with hideous noises, as though it were the doom of the
world!



CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.

THE GLACIER SLIDE.

"An avalanche!" cried Karl Linden, as the first crash fell upon his ear;
but on turning, he saw his mistake.

"No," he continued, with a look of terror, "it is not an avalanche!  My
God! my God! _the glacier is in motion_!"

He did not need to point out the spot.  The eyes of Caspar and Ossaroo
were already turned upon it.--Away down the ravine as far as they could
see the surface of the glacier appeared in motion, like sea-billows;
huge blocks of ice were thrown to the top and rolled over, with a
rumbling crashing noise, while large blue fragments raised high above
the general surface, were grinding and crumbling to pieces against the
faces of the cliffs.  A cloud of snow-spray, rising like a thick white
mist, filled the whole ravine--as if to conceal the work of ruin that
was going on--and underneath this ghostly veil, the crushing and tearing
for some moments continued.  Then all at once the fearful noises ceased,
and only the screaming of the birds, and the howling of beasts,
disturbed the silence of the place.

Pale, shuddering, almost paralysed by fear, the hunters had thrown
themselves on their hands and knees, expecting every moment to feel the
glacier move beneath them,--expecting to sink beneath the surface, or be
crushed amidst the billows of that icy sea.  So long as the dread sounds
echoed in their ears, their hearts were filled with consternation, and
long after the crashing and crackling ceased, they remained the victims
of a terrible suspense; but they felt that that portion of the glacier
upon which they were did not move.  It still remained firm; would it
continue so?

They knew not the moment it, too, might commence sliding downward, and
bury them under its masses, or crush them in some deep crevasse.

O heavens! the thought was fearful.  It had paralysed them for a moment;
and for some time after the noises had ceased, they remained silent and
motionless.  Indeed, absurd as it may seem, each dreaded to stir, lest
the very motion of his body might disturb the icy mass upon which he was
kneeling!

Reflection soon came to their aid.  It would never do to remain there.
They were still exposed to the danger.  Whither could they retreat?  Up
the ravine might be safer?  Above them the ice had not yet stirred.  The
ruin had all been below--below the crevasse they had just crossed.

Perhaps the rocks would afford a footing?  They would not move, at all
events, even if the upper part of the glacier should give way; but was
there footing to be found upon them?

They swept their eyes along the nearest cliff.  It offered but little
hope.  Yes--upon closer inspection there was a ledge--a very narrow one,
but yet capable of giving refuge to two or three men; and, above all, it
was easy of access.  It would serve their purpose.

Like men seeking shelter from a heavy shower, or running to get out of
the way of some impending danger, all three made for the ledge; and
after some moments spent in sprawling and climbing against the cliff,
they found themselves standing safely upon it.--Small standing-room they
had.  Had there been a fourth, the place would not have accommodated
him.  There was just room enough for the three side by side, and
standing erect.

Small as the space was, it was a welcome haven of refuge.  It was the
solid granite, and not the fickle ice.  It looked eternal as the hills;
and, standing upon it, they breathed freely.

But the danger was not over, and their apprehensions were still keen.
Should the upper part of the glacier give way, what then?  Although it
could not reach them where they stood, the surface might sink far below
its present level, and leave them on the cliff--upon that little ledge
on the face of a black precipice!

Even if the upper ice held firm, there was another thought that now
troubled them.  Karl knew that what had occurred was a _glacier slide_--
a phenomenon that few mortals have witnessed.  He suspected that the
slide had taken place in that portion of the glacier below the crevasse
they had just crossed.  If so, the lye would be widened, the huge gneiss
rock that bridged it gone, and their _retreat down the glacier cut off_!

Upward they beheld nothing but the beetling cliffs meeting together.  No
human foot could scale them.  If no outlet offered in that direction,
then, indeed, might the jesting allusion of Caspar be realised.  They
might be imprisoned between those walls of black granite, with nought
but ice for their bed, and the sky for their ceiling.  It was a fearful
supposition, but all three did not fail to entertain it.

As yet they could not tell whether their retreat downwards was in
reality cut off.  Where they stood an abutment of the cliff hid the
ravine below.  They had rushed to their present position, with the first
instinct of preservation.  In their flight, they had not thought of
looking either toward the crevasse or the gneiss rock.--Other large
boulders intervened, and they had not observed whether it was gone.
They trembled to think of such a thing.

The hours passed; and still they dared not descend to the glacier.
Night came on, and they still stood upon their narrow perch.  They
hungered, but it would have been of no use to go down to the cold icy
surface.  That would not have satisfied their appetite.

All night long they remained standing upon the narrow ledge; now on one
foot, now on the other, now resting their backs against the granite
wall, but all night, without closing an eye in sleep.  The dread of the
capricious ice kept them on their painful perch.

They could bear it no longer.  With the first light of morning they
determined upon descending.

The ice had remained firm during the night.  No farther noises had been
heard.  They gradually recovered confidence; and as soon as the day
began to break, all three left the ledge, and betook themselves once
more to the glacier.

At first they kept close to the cliff; but, after a while, ventured out
far enough to get a view of the ravine below.

Caspar mounted upon a rocky boulder that lay upon the surface of the
glacier.  From the top of this he could see over the others.  _The
crevasse was many yards wide.  The bridge-rock was gone_!



CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.

THE PASS.

The philosophy of the movement of glaciers is but ill understood, even
by the most accomplished geologists.  It is supposed that the under
surface of these great icy masses is detached from the ground by the
thaw which continually takes place there, caused by the radiating heat
of the earth.  Water is also an agent in loosening their hold; for it is
well-known that currents of water--sometimes large streams,--run under
the glaciers.  The icy mass thus detached, and resting on an inclined
surface, is carried down by its own weight.

Sometimes only a very small portion of a glacier moves, causing a
fissure above the part that has given way; and at other times these
fissures are closed up, by the sliding of that portion next above them.
An unusually hot summer produces these effects upon the glacier ice,
combined with the falling of avalanches, or mountain slides, which, with
their weight, serve to impel the icy mass downwards.

The weight of our three hunters was but as a feather, and could have had
no effect in giving motion to the glacier; but it is possible that the
gneiss rock was just upon the balance when they crossed it.  Thawed
around its surface, it had no cohesion with the ice on which it rested;
and, as a feather turns the scale, their crossing upon it may have
produced a motion, which resulted in its fall.

So vast a mass hurled into the great cleft, and acting as a driven
wedge, may have been the feather's touch that imparted motion to a
section of the glacier, already hanging upon the balance, and ready to
slide downwards.

Whether or not they had any agency in producing this fearful phenomenon,
our travellers reflected not at the time.  They were far too much
terrified at the result to speculate upon causes.  One after another
they mounted upon the great boulder, and satisfied themselves of the
facts that the crevasse had widened,--the bridge-rock had disappeared,--
and their retreat was cut off!

After a little, they ventured closer to the fearful chasm.  They climbed
upon a ledge of the precipice, that gave them a better view of it.

From this elevation they could partially see into the cleft.  At the
surface it was many yards wide.  It appeared to be hundreds of feet in
depth.  Human agency could not have bridged it.  All hope of getting
back down the glacier was at an end; and with consternation in their
looks, they turned their faces away, and commenced ascending towards the
head of the ravine.

They advanced with timid steps.  They spoke not at all, or only in low
murmuring voices.  They looked right and left, eagerly scanning the
precipice on both sides.  On each side of them towered the black cliffs,
like prison walls, frowning and forbidding.  No ledge of any size
appeared on either; no terrace, no sloping ravine, that might afford
them a path out of that dark valley.  The cliffs, sheer and smooth,
presented no hold for the human foot.  The eagles, and other birds that
screamed over their heads, alone could scale them.

Still they had not lost hope.  The mind does not yield to despair
without full conviction.  As yet they were not certain that there was no
outlet to the ravine; and until certain they would not despair.

They observed the tracks of the musk-deer as they went on.  But these
were no longer fresh; it was the trail of yesterday.

They followed this trail with renewed hopes,--with feelings of joy.  But
it was not the joy of the hunter who expects ere long to overtake his
game.  No, directly the reverse.  Hungry as all three were, they
_feared_ to overtake the game; they dreaded the discovery of fresh
tracks!

You will wonder at this; but it is easily explained.  They had reasoned
with themselves, that if there existed any outlet above, the deer would
have gone out by it.  If the contrary, the animal would still be found
near the head of the ravine.  Nothing would have been less welcome than
the sight of the deer at that moment.

Their hopes rose as they advanced.  No fresh tracks appeared upon the
glacier.  The trail of the musk-deer still continued onward and upward.
The creature had not halted, nor even strayed to either side.  It had
gone straight on, as though making for some retreat already known to it.
Here and there it had made detours; but these had been caused by lyes
in the ice, or boulders, that lay across the path.

With beating hearts the trackers kept on; now scanning the cliffs on
each hand, now bending their eyes in advance.

At length they saw themselves within a hundred paces of the extreme end
of the ravine, and yet no opening appeared.  The precipice rose high and
sheer as ever, on the right, on the left, before their faces.  Nor break
nor path cheered their eyes.

Where could the deer have gone?  The ground above was pretty clear of
_debris_.  There were some loose rocks lying on one side.  Had it hidden
behind these?  If so, they would soon find it; for they were within a
few paces of the rocks.

They approached with caution.  They had prepared their weapons for a
shot.  Despite their fears, they had still taken some precautions.
Hunger instigated them to this.

Caspar was sent on to examine the covert of rocks, while Karl and the
shikarree remained in the rear to intercept the deer if it attempted to
retreat down the ravine.

Caspar approached with due caution.  He crawled silently up to the
boulders.  He placed himself close to the largest; and, raising his
head, peeped over it.

There was no deer behind the rock, nor any traces of it in the snow.

He passed on to the next, and then to the next.  This brought him into a
new position, and near the head of the ravine; so that he could now see
the whole surface of the glacier.

There was no musk-deer to be seen; but a spectacle greeted his eyes far
more welcome than the sight of the largest herd of deer could have been
to the keenest hunter; and a cry of joy escaped him on the instant.

He was seen to start out from the rocks, shouting as he ran across the
ravine--

"Come on, brother! we are safe yet!  There's a pass! there's a pass!"



CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.

THE LONE MOUNTAIN VALLEY.

A pass there was, sure enough, that opened between the cliffs like a
great gate.  Why they had not perceived it sooner was because the gorge
bent a little to the right before opening to this outlet; and, of
course, the bend from a distance appeared to be the termination of the
ravine.

A hundred yards from the bend brought them into the great gate between
the cliffs, and there a view opened before their eyes that filled their
hearts with joy and admiration.

Perhaps in all the world they could not have looked upon a more singular
landscape.  Right before their faces, and somewhat below the level on
which they stood, lay a valley.  It was nearly of a circular shape, and,
perhaps, a league or more in circumference.  In the middle of this
valley was a lake several hundred yards in diameter.  The whole bottom
of the valley appeared to be a plane, but slightly elevated above the
water level, consisting of green meadows, beautifully interspersed with
copses of shrubbery and clumps of trees, with foliage of rich and varied
colours.  What appeared to be droves of cattle and herds of deer were
browsing on the meadows, or wandering around the copses; while flocks of
waterfowl disported themselves over the blue water of the lake.

So park-like was the aspect of this sequestered valley, that the eyes of
our travellers instinctively wandered over its surface in search of
human dwellings or the forms of human beings; and were only astonished
at not perceiving either.  They looked for a house,--a noble mansion,--a
palace to correspond to that fair park.  They looked for chimneys among
the trees--for the ascending smoke.  No trace of all these could be
detected.  A smoke there was, but it was not that of a fire.  It was a
white vapour that rose near one side of the valley, curling upward like
steam.  This surprised and puzzled them.  They could not tell what
caused it, but they could tell that it was not the smoke of a fire.

But the form of the valley--its dimensions--its central lake--its green
meadows and trees--its browsing herds--its wild fowl might have been
seen elsewhere.  All these things might occur, and do occur in many
parts of the earth's surface without the scene being regarded as
singular or remarkable.  It was not these that have led us to
characterise the landscape in question as one of the most singular in
the world.  No--its singularity rested upon other circumstances.

One of these circumstances was, that around the valley there appeared a
dark belt of nearly equal breadth, that seemed to hem it in as with a
gigantic fence.  A little examination told that this dark belt was a
line of cliffs, that, rising up from the level bottom on all sides,
fronted the valley and the lake.  In other words, the valley was
surrounded by a precipice.  In the distance it appeared only a few yards
in height, but that might be a deception of the eye.

Above the black line another circular belt encompassed the valley.  It
was the sloping sides of bleak barren mountains.  Still another belt
higher up was formed by the snowy crests of the same mountains--here in
roof-like ridges, there in rounded domes, or sharp cone-shaped peaks,
that pierced the heavens far above the line of eternal snow.

There seemed to be no way of entrance into this singular basin except
over the line of black cliff.  The gap in which our travellers stood,
and the ravine through which they had ascended appeared to be its only
outlet; and this, filled as it was by glacier ice, raised the summit of
the pass above the level of the valley; but a sloping descent over a
vast _debris_ of fallen rocks--the "moraine" of the glacier itself--
afforded a path down to the bottom of the valley.

For several minutes all three remained in the gap, viewing this strange
scene with feelings that partook of the nature of admiration--of
wonder--of awe.  The sun was just appearing over the mountains, and his
rays, falling upon the crystallised snow, were refracted to the eyes of
the spectators in all the colours of the rainbow.  The snow itself in
one place appeared of a roseate colour, while elsewhere it was streaked
and mottled with golden hues.  The lake, too--here rippled by the
sporting fowl, there lying calm and smooth--reflected from its blue disk
the white cones of the mountains, the darker belting of the nearer
cliffs, or the green foliage upon its shores.

For hours Karl Linden could have gazed upon that fairy-like scene.
Caspar, of ruder mould, was entranced by its beauty; and even the hunter
of the plains--the native of palm-groves and cane fields--confessed he
had never beheld so beautiful a landscape.  All of them were well
acquainted with the Hindoo superstition concerning the Himalaya
Mountains.  The belief that in lonely valleys among the more
inaccessible peaks, the Brahmin gods have their dwelling and their home;
and they could not help fancying at that moment that the superstition
might be true.  Certainly, if it were true, some one of these deities,
Vishnu, or Siva, or even Brahma himself, must dwell in that very valley
that now lay before them.

But poetical and legendary sentiment soon vanished from the minds of our
travellers.  All three were hungry--hungry as wolves--and the ruling
thought at the moment was to find the means for satisfying their
appetites.

With this intent, therefore, they strode forward out of the gap, and
commenced descending towards the bottom of the valley.



CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE.

GRUNTING OXEN.

There were several kinds of animals in sight, but it was natural that
the hungry hunters should choose those that were nearest for their game.
The nearest also chanced to be the largest--though in the flock there
were individuals of different sizes, from the bigness of a large ox to
that of a Newfoundland dog.  There were about a dozen in all, evidently
of one kind, and the difference in size and other respects arose from a
difference of age and sex.

What sort of animals they were, not one of the party could tell.  Even
Ossaroo did not know them.  He had never seen such creatures on the
plains of India.  It was evident to all, however, that they were some
species of oxen or buffaloes, since they bore a general resemblance to
animals of the family of _bovidae_.  First there was the great massive
bull, the patriarch of the herd, standing nearly as tall as a horse, and
quite as tall reckoning from the top of the stately hump on his
shoulders.  His curved horns spreading outward rose from a mass of thick
curled hair, giving him the fierce aspect which characterises animals of
the buffalo kind.  But his chief peculiarity lay in the drapery of long
silky hair, that from his sides, flanks, neck, belly, and thighs, hung
downward until its tips almost dragged upon the grass.  This singular
appendage gave the animal the appearance of being short-legged, and the
massive thickness of the legs themselves added to the effect.

Karl could not help remarking in the old bull a considerable resemblance
to the rare musk-ox of America; an animal with which he was acquainted,
from having seen stuffed specimens in the museums.  He noted, however,
that there was one point in which the musk-ox differed essentially from
the species before him--in regard to the fail.  The musk-ox is almost
tailless; or, rather, his fail is so small as to be quite inconspicuous
amidst the long masses of hair that adorn his croup; whereas the strange
creature before them was remarkable for the large development of this
appendage, which swept downward, full and wide, like the tail of a
horse.  The colour of the bull's body appeared black in the distance,
though, in reality, it was not black, but of a dark, chocolate brown;
the tail, on the contrary, was snow-white, which, from this contrast in
colour, added to the singularity of the animal's appearance.

There was but one large bull in the herd; evidently the lord and master
of all the others.  These consisted of the females or cows, and the
young.  The cows were much smaller, scarce half the size of the old
bull; their horns less massive, and the tails and long hair less full
and flowing.

Of the young, there were some of different ages; from the half-grown
bull or heifer, to the calves lately dropped; which last were tearing
about over the ground, and gambolling by the feet of their mothers.
About these little creatures there was a peculiarity.  The long hair
upon their flanks and sides had not yet made its appearance; but their
whole coat was black and curly, just like that of a water-spaniel, or
Newfoundland dog.  In the distance, they bore a striking resemblance to
these animals; and one might have fancied the herd to be a flock of
buffaloes, with a number of black dogs running about in their midst.

"Whatever they be," remarked Caspar, "they look like they might be
eatable.  I think they're beef of some kind."

"Beef, venison, or mutton--one of the three," rejoined Karl.

Ossaroo was not particular at that moment.  He could have picked a rib
of wolf-meat, and thought it palatable.

"Well, we must stalk them," continued Karl.  "I see no other way of
getting near them but by crawling through yonder copse."

The speaker pointed to a grove, near which the animals were browsing.

Caspar and Ossaroo agreed with this suggestion, and all three, having
now reached the bottom of the descent, commenced their stalk.

Without any difficulty, they succeeded in reaching the copse; and then,
creeping silently through the underwood, they came to that edge of it
which was closest to the browsing herd.  The bushes were evergreens--
rhododendrons--and formed excellent cover for a stalk; and, as yet, the
game had neither seen, nor heard, nor smelt the approaching enemy.  They
were too distant for the arrows of Ossaroo, therefore Ossaroo could do
nothing; but they were within excellent range of the rifle and
double-barrel, loaded, as the latter was, with large buckshot.

Karl whispered to Caspar to choose one of the calves for the first
barrel, while he himself aimed at the larger game.

The bull was too distant for either bullet or buckshot.  He was standing
apart, apparently acting as sentry to the herd, though this time he did
not prove a watchful guardian.  He had some suspicion, however, that all
was not right; for, before they could fire, he seemed to have caught an
alarm, and, striking the ground with his massive hoofs, he uttered a
strange noise, that resembled the grunting of a hog.  So exactly did it
assimilate to this, that our hunters, for the moment, believed there
were pigs in the place, and actually looked around to discover their
whereabouts.

A moment satisfied them, that the grunting came from the bull; and,
without thinking any more about it, Karl and Caspar levelled their
pieces, and fired.

The reports reverberated through the valley; and the next moment the
whole herd, with the bull at their head, were seen going in full gallop
across the plain.  Not all of them, however.  A calf, and one of the
cows, lay stretched upon the sward, to the great delight of the hunters,
who, rushing forth from their cover, soon stood triumphant over the
fallen game.

A word or two passed between them.  They had determined on first cooking
the calf, to appease their hunger, and were about proceeding to skin it,
when a long, loud grunting sounded in their ears; and, on looking
around, they beheld the great bull coming full tilt towards them, his
head lowered to the ground, and his large, lustrous eyes flashing with
rage and vengeance, he had only retreated a short distance, fancying, no
doubt, that his whole family was after him; but, on missing two of its
members, he was now on his return to rescue or revenge them.

Strange as was the animal to all three, there was no mistaking his
prowess.  His vast size, his wild, shaggy front and sweeping horns, the
vengeful expression of his eyes, all declared him a powerful and
dangerous assailant.  Not one of the hunters thought for a moment of
withstanding such an assault; but, shouting to each other to run for
their lives, all three started off as fast as their legs would carry
them.

They ran for the copse, but that would not have saved them had it been
mere copse-wood.  Such a huge creature as their pursuer would have
dashed through copse-wood as through a field of grass; and, in reality,
he did so, charging through the bushes, goring them down on all sides of
him, and uttering his loud grunting like a savage boar.

It so happened that there were several large trees growing up out of the
underwood, and these, fortunately, were not difficult to climb.  The
three hunters did not need any advice, as to what they should do under
the circumstances.  Each had an instinct of his own, and that instinct
prompted him to take to a tree; where, of course, he would be safe
enough from an animal, whose claws, if it had any, were encased in
hoofs.

The bull continued for some minutes to grunt and charge backward and
forward among the bushes, but, not finding any of the party, he at
length returned to the plain, where the dead were lying.  He first
approached the cow, and then the calf, and then repeatedly passed from
one to the other, placing his broad muzzle to their bodies, and uttering
his grunting roar, apparently in a more plaintive strain than before.

After continuing these demonstrations for a while, he raised his head,
looked over the plain, and then trotted sullenly off in the direction in
which the others had gone.

Hungry as were the hunters, it was some time before they ventured to
come down from their perch.  But hunger overcame them at length, and
descending, they picked up their various weapons--which they had dropped
in their haste to climb--and, having loaded the empty barrels, they
returned to the game.

These were now dragged up to the edge of the timber--so that in case the
bull should take it into his head to return, they might not have so far
to run for the friendly trees.

The calf was soon stripped of its skin--a fire kindled--several ribs
broiled over the coals, and eaten in the shortest space of time.  Such
delicious veal not one of the three had ever tasted in his life.  It was
not that their extreme hunger occasioned them to think so, but such was
really the fact, for they were no longer ignorant of what they were
eating.  They now knew what sort of animals they had slain, and a
singular circumstance had imparted to them this knowledge.  As the bull
charged about in front of the thicket, Ossaroo from his perch on the
tree had a good view of him, and one thing belonging to the animal
Ossaroo recognised as an old acquaintance--it was his _tail_!  Yes, that
tail was not to be mistaken.  Many such had Ossaroo seen and handled in
his young days.  Many a fly had he brushed away with just such a one,
and he could have recognised it had he found it growing upon a fish.

When they returned to the quarry, Ossaroo pointed to the tail of the
dead cow--not half so full and large as that of the bull, but still of
similar character--and with a significant glance to the others, said--

"Know 'im now, Sahibs--_Ghowry_."



CHAPTER TWENTY SIX.

THE YAKS.

What Ossaroo meant was that he knew the tail; but he was as ignorant of
the animal to which it was attached, as if the latter had been a dragon
or a comet.  Ossaroo saw that the tail was a "chowry," in other words, a
fly-flapper, such as is used in the hot countries of India for brushing
away flies, mosquitos, and other winged insects.  Ossaroo knew it, for
he had often handled one to fan the old sahib, who had been his master
in the days of his boyhood.

The word chowry, however, at once suggested to the plant-hunter a train
of ideas.  He knew that the chowries of India were imported across the
Himalayas from Chinese Tartary and Thibet; that they were the tails of a
species of oxen peculiar to these countries, known as the yak, or
grunting ox.  Beyond a doubt then the animals they had slain were
"yaks."

Karl's conjecture was the true one.  It was a herd of wild yaks they had
fallen in with, for they were just in the very country where these
animals exist in their wild state.

Linnaeus gave to these animals the name of _Bos grunniens_, or grunting
ox--seeing that they were clearly a species of the ox.  It would be
difficult to conceive a more appropriate name for them; but this did not
satisfy the modern closet-naturalists--who, finding certain differences
between them and other _bovidae_, must needs form a new genus, to
accommodate this one species, and by such means render the study of
zoology more difficult.  Indeed, some of these gentlemen would have a
genus for _every_ species, or even variety--all of which absurd
classification leads only to the multiplication of hard names and the
confusion of ideas.

It is a great advantage to the student, as well as to the simple reader,
when the scientific title of an animal is a word which conveys some idea
of its character, and not the latinised name of Smith or Brown,
Hofenshaufer or Wislizenus; but this title should usually be the
specific one given to the animal.  Where a genus exists so easily
distinguished from all others as in the case of the old genus "_bos_,"
it is a great pity it should be cut up by fanciful systematists into
_bos, bubalus, bison, anoa, poephagus, ovibos_, and such like.  The
consequence of this subdividing is that readers who are not naturalists,
and even some who are, are quite puzzled by the multitude of names, and
gain no clear idea of the animal mentioned.  All these titles would have
been well enough as specific names, such as _Bos bubalus, Bos bison, Bos
grunniens_, etcetera, and it would have been much simpler and better to
have used them so.  Of course if there were many species under each of
these new genera, then the case would be different, and subdivision
might load to convenience.  As it is, however, there are only one or two
species of each, and in the case of some of the genera, as the musk-ox
(_ovibos_) and the yak or grunting ox, only one.  Why then multiply
names and titles?

These systematists, however, not satisfied with the generic name given
by the great systematic Linnaeus, have changed the name of the _Bos
grunniens_ to that of _Poephagus grunniens_, which I presume to mean the
"grunting poa-eater," or the "grunting eater of poa grass!"--a very
specific title indeed, though I fancy there are other kinds of oxen as
well of the yak who indulge occasionally in the luxury of poa grass.

Well, this yak, or syrlak, or grunting ox, or poa-eater, whatever we may
call him, is a very peculiar and useful animal.  He is not only found
wild in Thibet and other adjacent countries, but is domesticated, and
subjected to the service of man.  In fact, to the people of the high
cold countries that stretch northward from the Himalayas he is what the
camel is to the Arabs, or the reindeer to the people of Lapland.  His
long brown hair furnishes them with material out of winch they weave
their tents and twist their ropes.  His skin supplies them with leather.
His back carries their merchandise or other burdens, or themselves when
they wish to ride; and his shoulder draws their plough and their carts.
His flesh is a wholesome and excellent beef, and the milk obtained from
the cows--either as milk, cheese, or butter--is one of the primary
articles of food among the Thibetian people.

The tails constitute an article of commerce, of no mean value.  They are
exported to the plains of India, where they are bought for several
purposes--their principal use being for "chowries," or fly-brushes, as
already observed.  Among the Tartar people they are worn in the cap as
bridges of distinction, and only the chiefs and distinguished lenders
are permitted the privilege of wearing them.  In China, also, they are
similarly worn by the mandarins, first having been dyed of a bright red
colour.  A fine full yak's tail will fetch either in China or India
quite a handsome sum of money.

There are several varieties of the yak.  First, there is the true wild
yak--the same as those encountered by our travellers.  These are much
larger than the domestic breeds, and the bulls are among the most fierce
and powerful of the ox tribe.  Hunting them is often accompanied by
hair-breadth escapes and perilous encounters, and large dogs and horses
are employed in the chase.

The tame yaks are divided into several classes, as the ploughing yak,
the riding yak, etcetera, and these are not all of the dark brown colour
of the original race, but are met with dun-coloured, mottled red, and
even pure white.  Dark brown or black, however, with a white tail, is
the prevailing colour.  The yak-calf is the finest veal in the world;
but when the calf is taken from the mother, the cow refuses to yield
milk.  In such cases the foot of the calf is brought for her to lick, or
the stuffed skin to fondle, when she will give milk as before,
expressing her satisfaction by short grunts like a pig.

The yak when used as a beast of burden will travel twenty miles a day,
under a load of two bags of rice or salt, or four or six planks of
pine-wood slung in pairs along either flank.  Their ears are generally
pierced by their drivers, and ornamented with tufts of scarlet worsted.
Their true home is on the cold table-lands of Thibet and Tartary, or
still higher up among the mountain valleys of the Himalayas, where they
feed on grass or the smaller species of carices.  They love to browse
upon steep places, and to scramble among rocks; and their favourite
places for resting or sleeping are on the tops of isolated boulders,
where the sun has full play upon them.  When taken to warm climates,
they languish, and soon die of disease of the liver.  It is possible,
however, that they could be acclimated in many European countries, were
it taken in hand by those who alone have the power to make the trial in
a proper manner--I mean the governments of these countries.  But such
works of utility are about the last things that the tyrants of the earth
will be likely to trouble their heads with.



CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN.

CURING THE YAK-MEAT.

Our travellers found the yak-veal excellent, and the three consumed a
quarter of it for their breakfasts before their appetites were
satisfied.

This business being brought to a conclusion, they held a council as to
what was best to be done next.  Of course they had already made up their
minds to spend some days in this beautiful valley in plant-hunting.
From the glance they had had of it, Karl had no doubt that its _flora_
and _sylva_ were exceedingly rich and varied.  Indeed, while passing
through the underwood he had noticed many curious kinds that were quite
new to him, and he would be likely enough to find some altogether
unknown to the botanical world.  These thoughts filled him with joyful
anticipations--bright visions of future triumph in his beloved science
passed before his mind's eye, and he felt for the moment contented and
happy.

The peculiar situation of the valley led him to expect a peculiar flora,
surrounded as it was by snowy mountains--isolated apparently from other
fertile tracts, and sheltered from every wind by the lofty ridges that
encircled it.  Among other peculiarities he had observed plants of
almost tropical genera, although the altitude could not be less than
15,000 feet, and the snowy mountains that towered above it were some of
the highest peaks of the Himalayas!  These tropical forms had puzzled
him not a little, considering the altitude at which he observed them;
and to account for the apparent anomaly was one of the thoughts that was
passing through his mind at the moment.

As for Caspar, he was pleased to know that his brother desired to remain
there for some days.  He had less interest in the rare plants, but he
had observed that the place was very well stocked with wild animals, and
he anticipated no little sport in hunting them.

It is just possible that Ossaroo sighed for the warm plains, for the
palm-groves and bamboo thickets, but the shikarree liked the look of the
game, and could spend a few days well enough in this region.  Moreover,
the atmosphere of the valley was much warmer than that of the country in
which they had been travelling for several days past.  Indeed, the
difference was so great as to surprise all three of them, and they could
only account for the higher temperature by supposing that it arose from
the sheltered situation of the valley itself.

Having determined on remaining, therefore it became necessary to make
some provision against hunger.  Though the game seemed plenty enough,
they might not always be so successful in stalking it; and as the yak
cow offered them beef enough to last for some days, it would not do to
let the meat spoil.  That must be looked to at once.

Without further ado, therefore, they set about preserving the meat.
Having no salt this might appear to be a difficult matter, and so it
would have been to the northern travellers.  But Ossaroo was a man of
the tropics--in whose country salt was both scarce and dear--and
consequently he knew other plans for curing meat besides pickling it.
He knew how to cure it by the process called "jerking."  This was a
simple operation, and consisted in cutting the meat into thin slices,
and either hanging it upon the branches of trees, or spreading it out
upon the rock--leaving the sun to do the rest.

It happened, however, that on that day the sun did not shine very
brightly, and it was not hot enough for jerking meat.  But Ossaroo was
not to be beaten so easily.  He knew an alternative which is adopted in
such cases.  He knew that the meat can be jerked by the fire as well as
by the sun, and this plan he at once put into operation.  Having
gathered a large quantity of fagots, he kindled them into a fire, and
then hung the beef upon scaffolds all around it--near enough to be
submitted to the heat and smoke, but not so near as that the meat should
be either broiled or burnt.  When it should hang thus exposed to the
fire for a day or so, Ossaroo assured his companions it would be cured
and dried so as to keep for months without requiring a pinch of salt.

The skinning of the yak, and then cutting its flesh into strips--the
erection of the scaffold-poles, and stringing up of the meat, occupied
all hands for the space of several hours, so that when the job was
finished it was past midday.

Dinner had then to be cooked and eaten, which occupied nearly another
hour; and although it was not yet quite nightfall, they were all so
sleepy from their long vigil, and so tired with standing upon the ledge,
that they were glad to stretch themselves by the fire and go to rest.

The cold air, as evening approached, caused them to shiver; and now for
the first time they began to think of their blankets, and other matters
which they had left at their last camp.  But they only thought of them
with a sigh.  The road, to where these had been left, could no longer be
traversed.  It would no doubt be necessary for them to make a long
detour over the mountains, before they could get back to that camp.

Ossaroo had prepared a substitute for one of the blankets at least.  He
had stretched the yak-skin upon a frame, and placed it in front of the
fire, so that by night it was dry enough for some of the party to wrap
their bodies in.  Sure enough, when Caspar was enveloped in this strange
blanket--with the hairy side turned inward--be obtained in it, as he
himself declared, one of the pleasantest and soundest sleeps he had ever
slept in his life.

All three, rested well enough; but had they only known of the discovery
that awaited them on the morrow, their sleep would not have been so
sound, nor their dreams so light.



CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT.

THE BOILING SPRING.

They ate their breakfasts of boiled yak-steak, washing it down with a
draught of water.  They had not even a cup to hold the water.  They
knelt down and drank it out of the lake.  The water was clear enough,
but not as cold as they might have expected at such an elevation.  They
had noticed this on the preceding day, and now expressed their surprise
at finding it so warm.  They had no thermometer with which to test it,
but it was evidently of much higher temperature than the air!

Whence came this water?  It could not be from the melting snow--else it
would certainly have been colder than it was.  Perhaps there was a
spring somewhere?  Perhaps there was a hot spring?

This was not at all improbable, for, strange to say, hot springs are
numerous on the Himalaya Mountains--often bursting out amidst ice and
snow, and at very great elevations.

Karl had read of such springs, and this it was that led him to infer the
existence of one in the valley.  How else could the water be warm?

Now they recollected that on the previous morning they had noticed a
singular cloud of vapour that hung over the tops of the trees on one
side of the valley.  It was no longer visible, after they had descended
from the elevation at which they then were; but they remembered the
direction in which it had been seen, and now went in search of it.

They soon reached the spot, and found it just as they had conjectured.
A hot spring was there, bubbling out from among the rocks, and then
running off in a rivulet towards the lake.  Caspar thrust his hand into
the water, but drew it back again with an exclamation that betokened
both pain and surprise.  The water was almost boiling!

"Well," said he, "this is convenient at all events.  If we only had a
teapot, we should need no kettle.  Here's water on the boil at all
hours!"

"Ha!" ejaculated Karl, as he dipped his fingers into the hot stream;
"this explains the high temperature of the valley, the rich luxuriant
vegetation, the presence of plants of the lower region; I thought that
there was some such cause.  See, yonder grow magnolias!  How very
interesting!  I should not wonder if we meet with palms and bamboos!"

Just at that moment the attention of the party was called away from the
hot spring.  A noble buck came bounding up until he was within twenty
yards of the spot, and then halting in his tracks, stood for some
moments gazing at the intruders.

There was no mistaking this creature for any other animal than a stag.
The vast antlers were characteristics that left no room to doubt of his
species.  He was about the size of the European stag or red-deer, and
his branching horns were very similar.  His colour, too, was reddish
grey with a white mark around the croup, and his form and proportion
were very like to those of the English stag.  He was, in fact, the
Asiatic representative of this very species--known to naturalists as the
_Cervus Wallichii_.

At sight of the party around the spring, he exhibited symptoms more of
surprise than of fear.  Perhaps they were the first creatures of the
kind his great large eyes had ever glanced upon.  He knew not whether
they might prove friendly or hostile.

Simple creature!  He was not to remain long in doubt as to that point.
The rifle was brought to bear upon him, and the next moment he was
prostrate upon the ground.

It was Karl who had fired, as Caspar with the double-barrel was standing
at some distance off.  All three, however, ran forward to secure the
game, but, to their chagrin, the stag once more rose to his feet and
bounded off among the bushes, with Fritz following at his heels.  They
could see that he went upon three legs, and that the fourth--one of the
hind ones--was broken and trailing upon the ground.

The hunters started after, in hopes of still securing the prize; but
after passing through the thicket they had a view of the buck still
bounding along close by the bottom of the cliffs, and as yet far ahead
of the hound.  It was near the cliff where the animal had been wounded,
for the hot spring was close in to the rocks that bounded that side of
the valley.

The dog ran on after him, and the hunters followed as fast as they were
able.  Karl and Ossaroo kept along the bottom of the cliff, while Caspar
remained out in the open valley, in order to intercept the game should
it turn outwards in the direction of the lake.

In this way they proceeded for more than half-a-mile before seeing
anything more of the stag.  At length the loud baying of Fritz warned
them that he had overtaken the game, which was no doubt standing to bay.

This proved to be the case.  Fritz was holding the buck at bay close to
the edge of a thicket; but the moment the hunters came in sight, the
stag again broke, dashed into the thicket, and disappeared as before.

Another half-mile was passed before they found the game again, and then
the dog had brought him to bay a second time; but just as before, when
the hunters were approaching, the stag made a rush into the bushes, and
again got off.

It was mortifying to lose such noble game after having been so sure of
it, and all determined to follow out the chase if it should last them
the whole day.  Karl had another motive for continuing after the deer.
Karl was a person of tender and humane feelings.  He saw that the ball
had broken the creature's thigh-bone, and he knew the wound would cause
its death in the end.  He could not think of leaving it thus to die by
inches, and was anxious to put an end to its misery With this view as
well as for the purpose of obtaining the venison, he continued the
chase.

The stag gave them another long run, before it was again brought up; and
again, for the third time, it broke and made off.

They began to despair of being able to come up with it.  All this while
the deer had kept along the base of the cliffs, and the hunters as they
ran after it could not help noticing the immense precipice that towered
above their heads.  It rose to the height of hundreds of feet, in some
places with a slanting face, but generally almost as vertical as a wall.
The chase of the wounded stag, however, occupied too much their
attention to allow of their observing anything else very minutely; and
so they pressed on without halting anywhere--except for a moment or so
to gain breath.  Six or seven times had they seen the wounded stag, and
six or seven times had Fritz brought him to bay, but Fritz for his pains
had only received several severe scores from the antlers of the enraged
animal.

The hunters at length approached the great gap in the cliff, through
which they had first entered the valley, but the chase was carried past
this point and continued on as before.

Once more the loud barking of the dog announced that the deer had come
to a stand; and once more the hunters hurried forward.

This time they saw the stag standing in a pool of water up to the
flanks.  The ground gave Caspar an opportunity to approach within a few
yards without being observed by the game, and a discharge from the
double-barrel put an end to the chase.



CHAPTER TWENTY NINE.

AN ALARMING DISCOVERY.

You will naturally suppose that this successful termination of the chase
gave great satisfaction to the hunters.  It might have done so under
other circumstances, but just then their minds became occupied by
thoughts of a far different nature.

As they came up to the spot where the stag had fallen, and were
preparing to drag it from the pool, their eyes rested upon an object
which caused them to turn toward one another with looks of strange
significance.  This object was no other than the hot spring--the place
where the chase had begun.  Within less than a hundred yards of the spot
where the stag had received his first wound was he now lying dead!  The
pool in fact was in the little rivulet that ran from the spring to the
lake.

I have said that the hunters on observing this exchanged significant
glances.  One fact was evident to all of them--that they had got back to
the spot whence they started.  A very little reasoning taught them
another fact--that in the pursuit of the stag they must have made the
full circuit of the valley.  They had not turned back anywhere--they had
not crossed the valley--they had not even been in sight of the lake
during the whole chase.  On the contrary, Karl with Ossaroo had kept
continually along the bottom of the cliffs, sometimes in the timber, and
at intervals passing across stretches of open ground.

What was there remarkable about all this?  It only proved that the
valley was small, and of roundish form; and that in about an hour's time
any one might make the circuit of it.  What was there in this discovery
that should cause the hunters to stand gazing upon one another with
troubled looks?  Was it surprise at the stag having returned to die
where he had received his wound?  Certainly there was something a little
singular about that, but so trifling a circumstance could not have
clouded the brows of the hunters.  It was not surprise that was pictured
in their looks--more serious feelings were stirring within them.  Their
glances were those of apprehension--the fear of some danger not fully
defined or certain.  What danger?

The three stood, Ossaroo lightly grasping his bow, but not thinking of
the weapon; Karl holding his rifle with its butt resting on the ground,
and Caspar gazing interrogatively in the face of his brother.

For some moments not one of them spoke.  Each guessed what the other was
thinking of.  The stag lay untouched in the pool, his huge antlers alone
appearing above the surface of the water, while the dog stood baying on
the bank.

Karl at length broke silence.  He spoke half in soliloquy, as if his
thoughts were busy with the subject.

"Yes, a precipice the whole way round.  I saw no break--no signs of one.
Ravines there were, it is true, but all seemed to end in the same high
cliffs.  You observed no outlet, Ossaroo?"

"No, Sahib; me fearee de valley shut up, no clear o' dis trap yet
Sahib."

Caspar offered no opinion.  He had kept farther out from the cliffs, and
at times had been quite out of sight of them--the trees hiding their
tops from his view.  He fully comprehended, however, the meaning of his
brother's observations.

"Then you think the precipice runs all around the valley?" he asked,
addressing the latter.

"I fear so, Caspar.  I observed no outlet--neither has Ossaroo; and
although not specially looking for such a thing, I had my eyes open for
it; I had not forgotten our perilous situation of yesterday, and I
wished to assure myself.  I looked up several gorges that ran out of the
valley, but the sides of all seemed to be precipitous.  The chase, it is
true, kept me from examining them very closely; but it is now time to do
so.  If there be no pass out of this valley, then are we indeed in
trouble.  These cliffs are five hundred feet in height--they are
perfectly impassable by human foot.  Come on! let us know the worst."

"Shall we not draw out the stag?" inquired Caspar, pointing to the game
that still lay under the water.

"No, leave him there; it will get no harm till our return: should my
fears prove just, we shall have time enough for that, and much else
beside.  Come on!"

So saying Karl led the way toward the foot of the precipice, the others
following silently after.

Foot by foot, and yard by yard, did they examine the beetling front of
those high cliffs.  They viewed them from their base, and then passing
outward scanned them to the very tops.  There was no gorge or ravine
which they did not enter and fully reconnoitre.  Many of these there
were, all of them resembling little bays of the ocean, their bottoms
being on the same level with the valley itself, and their sides formed
by the vertical wall of granite.

At some places the cliffs actually hung over.  Now and then they came
upon piles of rock and scattered boulders--some of them of enormous
dimensions.  There were single blocks full fifty feet in length,
breadth, and height; and there were also cairns, or collections of
rocks, piled up to four times that elevation, and standing at such a
distance from the base of the cliff, that it was evident they could not
have fallen from it into their present position.  Ice, perhaps, was the
agent that had placed them where they lay.

None of the three were in any mood to speculate upon geological
phenomena at that moment.  They passed on, continuing their examination.
They saw that the cliff was not all of equal height.  It varied in this
respect, but its lowest escarpment was too high to be ascended.  At the
lowest point it could not have been less than three hundred feet sheer,
while there were portions of it that rose to the stupendous height of
one thousand from the valley!

On went they along its base, carefully examining every yard.  They had
gone over the same path with lighter feet and lighter hearts.  This time
they were three hours in making the circuit; and at the end of these
three hours they stood in the gap by which they had entered, with the
full and painful conviction that that gap was the only outlet to this
mysterious valley--the only one that could be traversed by human foot!
The valley itself resembled the crater of some extinct volcano, whose
lava lake had burst through this gate-like gorge, leaving an empty basin
behind.

They did not go back through the glacier ravine.  They had no hope of
escaping in that direction.  That they knew already.

From the gap they saw the white vapour curling up over the spring.  They
saw the remaining portion of the precipice that lay beyond.  It was the
highest and most inaccessible of all.

All three sat down upon the rocks; and remained for some minutes silent
and in a state of mind bordering upon despair.



CHAPTER THIRTY.

PROSPECTS AND PRECAUTIONS.

Brave men do not easily yield to despair.  Karl was brave.  Caspar,
although but a mere boy, was as brave as a man.  So was the shikarree
brave--that is, for one of his race.  He would have thought light of any
ordinary peril--a combat with a tiger, or a gayal, or a bear; but, like
all his race, he was given to superstition, he now firmly believed that
some of his Hindoo gods dwelt in this valley, and that they were all to
be punished for intruding into the sacred abode.  There was nothing
singular about his holding this belief.  It was perfectly natural,--in
fact, it was only the belief of his religion and his race.

Notwithstanding his superstitious fears, he did not yield himself up to
destiny.  On the contrary, he was ready to enter heart and soul into any
plan by which he and his companions might escape out of the territory of
Brahma, Vishnu, or Siva--whichsoever of these it belonged to.

It was in thinking over some plan that kept all three of them in
silence, and with such thoughts Ossaroo was as busy as the others.

Think as they would, no feasible or practicable idea could be got hold
of.  There were five hundred feet of a cliff to be scaled.  How was that
feat to be accomplished?

By making a ladder?  The idea was absurd.  No ladder in the world would
reach to the quarter of such a height.  Ropes, even if they had had
them, could be in no way made available.  These might aid in going
_down_ a precipice, but for going _up_ they would be perfectly useless.

The thought even crossed their minds of cutting notches in the cliff,
and ascending by that means!  This might appear to be practicable, and
viewing the matter from a distance it certainly does seem so.  But had
you been placed in the position of our travellers,--seated as they were
in front of that frowning wall of granite,--and told that you must climb
it by notches cut in the iron rock by your own hand, you would have
turned from the task in despair.

So did they; at least the idea passed away from their thoughts almost in
the same moment in which it had been conceived.

For hours they sat pondering over the affair.  What would they not have
given for wings; wings to carry them over the walls of that terrible
prison?

All their speculations ended without result; and at length rising to
their feet, they set off with gloomy thoughts toward the spot where they
had already encamped.

As if to render their situation more terrible, some wild beasts,--wolves
they supposed,--had visited the encampment during their absence, and had
carried off every morsel of the jerked meat.  This was a painful
discovery, for now more than ever should they require such provision.

The stag still remained to them.  Surely it was not also carried off?
and to assure themselves they hurried to the pool, which was at no great
distance.  They were gratified at finding the deer in the pool where it
had been left; the water, perhaps, having protected it from ravenous
beasts.

As their former camp ground had not been well chosen, they dragged the
carcass of the deer up to the hot spring; that being a better situation.
There the animal was skinned, a fire kindled, and after they had dined
upon fresh venison-steaks, the rest of the meat Ossaroo prepared for
curing,--just as he had done that of the yak,--but in this case he took
the precaution to hang it out of reach of all four-footed marauders.

So careful were they of the flesh of the deer, that even the bones were
safely stowed away, and Fritz had to make his supper upon the offal.

Notwithstanding their terrible situation, Karl had not abandoned one of
the national characteristics of his countryman,--prudence.  He foresaw a
long stay in this singular valley.  How long he did not think of asking
himself; perhaps for life.  He anticipated the straits in which they
might soon be placed; food even might fail them; and on this account
every morsel was to be kept from waste.

Around their night camp-fire they talked of the prospects of obtaining
food; of the animals they supposed might exist in the valley; of their
numbers and kinds,--they had observed several kinds; of the birds upon
the lake and among the trees; of the fruits and berries; of the roots
that might be in the ground; in short, of every thing that might be
found there from which they could draw sustenance.

They examined their stock of ammunition.  This exceeded even their most
sanguine hopes.  Both Caspar's large powder-horn and that of his brother
were nearly full.  They had used their guns but little since last
filling their horns.  They had also a good store of shot and bullets;
though these things were less essential, and in case of their running
short of them they knew of many substitutes, but gunpowder is the _sine
qua non_ of the hunter.

Even had their guns failed them, there was still the unerring bow of
Ossaroo, and it was independent of either powder or lead.  A thin reed,
or the slender branch of a tree, were nearly all that Ossaroo required
to make as deadly a shaft as need be hurled.

They were without anxiety, on the score of being able to kill such
animals as the place afforded.  Even had they been without arrows, they
felt confident that in such a circumscribed space they would have been
able to circumvent and capture the game.  They had no uneasiness about
any four-footed creature making its escape from the valley any more than
themselves.  There could be no other outlet than that by which they had
entered.  By the ravine only could the four-footed denizens of the place
have gone out and in; and on the glacier they had observed a beaten path
made by the tracks of animals, before the snow had fallen.  Likely
enough the pass was well-known to many kinds, and likely also there were
others that stayed continually in the valley, and there brought forth
their young.  Indeed, it would have been difficult for a wild animal to
have found a more desirable home.

The hope of the hunters was that many animals might have held this very
opinion, and from what they had already observed, they had reason to
think so.

Of course they had not yet abandoned the hope of being able to find some
way of escape from their singular prison.  No, it was too early for
that.  Had they arrived at such a conviction, they would have been in
poor heart indeed, and in no mood for conversing as they did.  The birds
and the quadrupeds, and the fruits and roots, would have had but little
interest for them with such a despairing idea as that in their minds.
They still hoped, though scarce knowing why; and in this uncertainty
they went to rest with the resolve to give the cliffs a fresh
examination on the morrow.



CHAPTER THIRTY ONE.

MEASURING THE CREVASSE.

Again, on the morrow, every foot of the precipitous bluffs was minutely
scanned and examined.  The circuit of the valley was made as before.
Even trees were climbed in order the better to view the face of the
cliffs that soared far above their tops.  The result was a full
conviction, that to scale the precipice at any point was an utter
impossibility.

Until fully convinced of this, they had not thought of going back
through the gap that led to the glacier; but now that all hopes of
succeeding elsewhere had vanished from their minds, they proceeded in
that direction.

They did not walk towards it with the light brisk step of men who had
hopes of success; but rather mechanically, as if yielding to a sort of
involuntary impulse.  As yet they had not examined the ice-chasm very
minutely.

Awed by the terror of the glacier slide, they had retreated from the
spot in haste.  One glance at the crevasse was all they had given; but
in that glance they had perceived the impossibility of crossing it.  At
the time, however, they were not aware of the resources that were so
near.  They were not aware that within less than five hundred yards of
the spot grew a forest of tall trees.  Indeed, it was not until they had
fully reconnoitred the cliffs, and turned away from them in despair,
that such a train of reasoning occurred to tha mind of any of the three.

As they were entering the portals of that singular passage, the thought
seemed for the first time to have taken shape.  Karl was the first to
give expression to it.  Suddenly halting, he pointed back to the forest,
and said,--

"If we could bridge it!"

Neither of his companions asked him what he contemplated bridging.  Both
were at that moment busy with the same train of thought.  They knew it
was the crevasse.

"Those pine-trees are tall," said Caspar.

"Not tall enough, Sahib," rejoined the shikarree.

"We can splice them," continued Caspar.

Ossaroo shook his head, but said nothing in reply.

The idea, however, had begotten new hopes; and all three walked down the
ravine with brisker steps.  They scanned the cliffs on either side as
they advanced, but these they had examined before.

Treading with caution they approached the edge of the crevasse.  They
looked across.  A hundred feet wide--perhaps more than a hundred feet--
yawned that fearful gulf.  They knelt down and gazed into the chasm.  It
opened far away into the earth--hundreds of feet below where they knelt.
It narrowed towards the bottom.  They could see the crystal cliffs,
blue at the top, grow greener and darker as they converged towards each
other.  They could see huge boulders of rock and masses of icy snow
wedged between them, and could hear far below the roaring of water.  A
torrent ran there--no doubt the superfluous waters of the lake escaping
by this subglacial stream.

A sublime, but terrible sight it was; and although the nerves of all
were strung to an extreme degree, it made them giddy to look into the
chasm, and horrid feelings came over them as they listened to the
unnatural echoes of their voices.  To have descended to the bottom would
have been a dread peril: but they did not contemplate such an
enterprise.  They knew that such a proceeding would be of no use, even
could they have accomplished it.  Once in the bottom of the chasm the
opposite steep would still have to be climbed, and this was plainly an
impossibility.  They thought not of crossing in that way--their only
hope lay in the possibility of bridging the crevasse; and to this their
whole attention was now turned.

Such a project might appear absurd.  Men of weaker minds would have
turned away from it in despair; and so, too, might they have done, but
for the hopelessness of all other means of escape.  It was now life or
death with them--at all events, it was freedom or captivity.

To give up all hope of returning to their homes and friends--to spend
the remainder of their lives in this wild fastness--was a thought almost
as painful as the prospect of death itself.

It was maddening to entertain such a thought, and as yet not one of them
could bring himself to dwell upon the reality of so terrible a destiny.
But the fact that such in reality would be their fate, unless they could
discover some mode of escaping from their perilous situation, sharpened
all their wits; and every plan was brought forward and discussed with
the most serious earnestness.

As they stood gazing across that yawning gulf, the conviction entered
their minds that _it was possible to bridge it_.

Karl was the first to give way to this conviction.  Caspar, ever
sanguine, soon yielded to the views of his brother; and Ossaroo, though
tardily convinced, acknowledged that they could do no better than try.
The scientific mind of the botanist had been busy, and had already
conceived a plan--which though it would be difficult of execution, did
not seem altogether impracticable.  On one thing, however, its
practicability rested--the width of the chasm.  This must be
ascertained, and how was it to be done?

It could not be guessed--that was clear.  The simple estimate of the eye
is a very uncertain mode of measuring--as was proved by the fact that
each one of the three assigned a different width to the crevasse.  In
fact, there was full fifty feet of variation in their estimates.  Karl
believed it to be only a hundred feet in width, Ossaroo judged it at a
hundred and fifty, while Caspar thought it might be between the two.
How, then, were they to measure it exactly?  That was the first question
that came before them.

Had they been in possession of proper instruments, Karl was scholar
enough to have determined the distance by triangulation; but they had
neither quadrant nor theodolite; and that mode was therefore impossible.

I have said that their wits were sharpened by their situation, and the
difficulty about the measurement was soon got over.  It was Ossaroo who
decided that point.

Karl and Caspar were standing apart discussing the subject, not dreaming
of any aid from the shikarree upon so scientific a question, when they
perceived the latter unwinding a long string, which he had drawn from
his pocket.

"Ho!" cried Caspar, "what are you about, Ossaroo?  Do you expect to
measure it with a string?"

"Yes, Sahib!" answered the shikarree.

"And who is to carry your line to the opposite side, I should like to
know?" inquired Caspar.

It seemed very ridiculous, indeed, to suppose that the chasm could be
measured with a string--so long as only one side of it was accessible;
but there was a _way_ of doing it, and Ossaroo's native wit had
suggested that way to him.

In reply to Caspar's question, he took one of the arrows from his
quiver, and, holding it up, he said,--

"This, Sahib, this carry it."

"True! true!" joyfully exclaimed the brothers; both of whom at once
comprehended the design of the shikarree.

It cost Ossaroo but a few minutes to put his design into execution.  The
string was unwound to its full extent.  There were nearly a hundred
yards of it.  It was stretched tightly, so as to clear it of snarls, and
then one end was adjusted to the shaft of the arrow.  The other end was
made fast to a rock, and after that the bow was bent, and the arrow
projected into the air.

A shout of joy was raised as the shaft was seen to fall upon the snowy
surface on the opposite side; and the tiny cord was observed, like the
thread of a spider's web, spanning the vast chasm.

Ossaroo seized the string in his hand, drew the arrow gently along until
it rested close to the opposite edge; and then marking the place with a
knot, he plucked the arrow till it fell into the chasm, and hand over
hand commenced winding up the string.

In a few moments he had recovered both cord and arrow; and now came the
important part, the measurement of the string.

The hearts of all three beat audibly as foot after foot was told off;
but a murmur of satisfaction escaped from all, when it was found that
the lowest estimate was nearest the truth.  The chasm was about a
hundred feet wide!



CHAPTER THIRTY TWO.

THE HUT.

Karl felt confident they could bridge the crevasse.  The only weapons
they had were their knives, and a small wood hatchet which Ossaroo
chanced to have in his belt when they set out in chase of the musk-deer.
True they had their guns, but of what service could these be in making
a bridge?

Ossaroo's knife, as already described, was a long-bladed one,--half
knife, half sword,--in fact, a jungle knife.  The hatchet was not larger
than an Indian tomahawk; but with these weapons Karl Linden believed he
could build a bridge of one hundred feet span!

He communicated to his companions his plan in detail, and both believed
in its feasibility.  I need hardly say that under such a belief their
spirits rose again; and, though they felt that success was far from
certain, they were once more filled with hope; and having taken all the
necessary steps, in regard to measuring the narrowest part of the
crevasse, and noted the ground well, they returned to the valley with
lighter hearts.

The bridge was not to be the work of a day, nor a week, nor yet might a
month suffice.  Could they only have obtained access to both sides of
the chasm it would have been different, and they could easily have
finished it in less time.  But you are to remember that only one side
was allowed them to work upon, and from this they would of necessity
have to project the bridge to the other.  If they could even have got a
cable stretched across, this would have been bridge enough for them, and
they would have needed no other.  A cable, indeed!  They would soon have
found their way over upon a cable or even a stout rope; but the stoutest
communication they had was a slender string, and only an arrow to hold
it in its place!

The genius of Karl had not only projected the bridge, but a mode of
placing it across the chasm, though many a contrivance would have to be
adopted, before the work could be finished.  Much time would require to
be spent, but what of time when compared with the results of failure or
success?

The first thing they did was to build them a hut.  The nights were cold,
and growing colder, for the Himalaya winter was approaching, and
sleeping in the open air, even by the largest fire they might make, was
by no means comfortable.  They built a rude hovel therefore, partly of
logs, and partly of stone blocks, for it was difficult to procure logs
of the proper length, and to cut them with such tools as they had would
have been a tedious affair.  The walls were made thick, rough, and
strong; the interstices were matted and daubed with clay from the bed of
the rivulet; the thatch was a sedge obtained from the lake; and the
floor of earth was strewed with the leaves of the sweet-smelling
rhododendron.  The hole was left for the smoke to escape.  Several
granite slabs served for seats--tables were not needed--and for beds
each of the party had provided himself with a thick mattress of dried
grass and leaves.  With such accommodations were the hunters fain to
content themselves.  They felt too much anxiety about the future to care
for present luxuries.

They were but one single day in building the hut.  Had there been
bamboos at hand, Ossaroo would have constructed a house in half the
time, and a much handsomer one.  As it was, their hovel occupied them
just a day, and on the next morning they set to work upon the bridge.

They had agreed to divide the labour; Karl with the axe, and Ossaroo
with his large knife, were to work upon the timbers; while Caspar was to
provide the food with his double-barrelled gun, helping the others
whenever he could spare time.

But Caspar found another purpose for his gun besides procuring meat.
Ropes would be wanted, long tough ropes; and they had already planned
it, that these should be made from the hides of the animals that might
be killed.  Caspar, therefore, had an important part to play.  Two
strong cables would be required, so Karl told him, each about a hundred
feet in length, besides many other ropes and cords.  It would be
necessary to hunt with some success before these could be obtained.
More than one large hide, a dozen at least, would be required; but
Caspar was just the man to do his part of the work, and procure them.

For the timbers, the trees out of which they were to be made had already
been doomed.  Even that morning four trees had been marked by the axe
and girdled.  These were pine-trees, of the species known as Thibet
pines, which grow to a great height, with tall trunks clear of branches
full fifty feet from the ground.  Of course it was not the largest trees
that were chosen; as it would have cost too much labour to have reduced
their trunks to the proper dimension, and particularly with such tools
as the workmen had.  On the contrary, the trees that were selected were
those very near the thickness that would be required; and but little
would have to be done, beyond clearing them of the bark and hewing the
heavier ends, so as to make the scantling of equal weight and thickness
all throughout their length.  The splicing each two of them together
would be an operation requiring the greatest amount of care and labour.

All their designs being fully discussed, each set about his own share of
the work.  Karl and Ossaroo betook themselves to the pine-forest, while
Caspar prepared to go in search of the game.



CHAPTER THIRTY THREE.

THE BARKING-DEER.

"Now," said Caspar to himself, as he shouldered his double-barrelled
gun, and started forth, "now to find that same herd of grunters!
They're the biggest animals here I fancy, and their beef's not bad--the
veal isn't, I know.  Besides, the hide of the old bull would make--let
me see--how many yards of rope."

Here Caspar entered into a mental calculation as to what length of
rawhide rope, of two inches in diameter, might be twisted out of the yak
bull's skin.  Karl had said two inches in diameter would be strong
enough for his purpose, provided the hide of the animal was as tough as
ordinary cow's hide; and this the skin of the yak really is.

The young hunter, after much computation, having stripped the great bull
of his skin, and spread it out upon the grass, and measured it--all in
fancy of course--and cut it into strips of near three inches in width--
had arrived at the conclusion that he would get about twenty yards of
sound rope out of the hide.

Then he submitted the skins of the cows to a similar process of
measurement.  There were four of them--there had been five, but one was
already killed.  To each of the four Caspar allowed a yield of ten yards
of rope--as each of them was only a little more than half the size of
the bull--besides their skins would not be either so thick or so strong.

There were four half-grown yaks--young bulls and heifers.  Caspar
remembered the number well, for he had noted this while stalking them.
To these he allowed still less yield than to the cows--perhaps thirty
yards from the four.  So that the hides of all--old bull, cows, and
yearlings--would, according to Caspar's calculation, give a cable of
ninety yards in length.  What a pity it would not make a hundred--for
that was about the length that Karl had said the cable should be.  True,
there were some young calves in the herd, but Caspar could make no
calculation on these.  Their skins might serve for other purposes, but
they would not do for working up into the strong cable which Karl
required.

"Maybe there is more than the one herd in the valley," soliloquised
Caspar.  "If so it will be all right.  Another bull would be just the
thing;" and with this reflection the hunter brought his double-barrel
down, looked to his flints and priming, returned the gun to his
shoulder, and then walked briskly on.

Caspar had no fear that he should be able to kill all the yaks they had
seen.  He was sure of slaughtering the whole herd.  One thing certain,
these animals could no more get out of the valley than could the hunter
himself.  If they had ever been in the habit of going out of it to visit
other pastures, they must have gone by the glacier; and they were not
likely to traverse that path any more.  The hunter now had them at an
advantage--in fact, they were regularly penned up for him!

After all, however, it was not such a pen.  The valley was a full mile
in width, and rather better in length.  It was a little country of
itself.  It was far from being of an even or equal surface.  Some parts
were hilly, and great rocks lay scattered over the surface here and
there, in some places forming great mounds several hundred feet high,
with cliffs and ravines between them, and trees growing in the clefts.
Then there were dark woods and thick tangled jungle tracts, where it was
almost impossible to make one's way through.  Oh, there was plenty of
covert for game, and the dullest animal might escape from the keenest
hunter in such places.  Still the game could not go clear away; and
although the yaks might get off on an occasion, they were sure to turn
up again; and Caspar trusted to his skill to be able to circumvent them
at one time or another.

Never in his life before had Caspar such motives for displaying his
hunter-skill.  His liberty--that of all of them--depended on all his
success in procuring the necessary number of hides; and this was spur
enough to excite him to the utmost.

In starting forth from the hut, he had taken his way along the edge of
the lake.  Several opportunities offered of a shot at Brahmin geese and
wild ducks but, in anticipation of finding the yaks, he had loaded both
barrels of his gun with balls.  This he had done in order to be prepared
for the great bull, whose thick hide even buckshot would scarce have
pierced.  A shot at the waterfowl, therefore, could not be thought of.
There would be every chance of missing them with the bullet; and neither
powder nor lead were such plentiful articles as to be thrown away idly.
He therefore reserved his fire, and walked on.

Nothing appeared to be about the edge of the lake; and after going a
short distance he turned off from the water and headed the direction of
the cliffs.  He hoped to find the herd of yaks among the rocks--for
Karl, who knew something of the natural history of these animals, had
told him that they frequented steep rocky places in preference to level
ground.

Caspar's path now led him through a belt of timber, and then appeared a
little opening on which there was a good deal of tall grass, and here
and there a low copse or belt of shrubbery.

Of course he went cautiously along--as a hunter should do--at every
fresh vista looking ahead for his game.

While passing through the open ground his attention was attracted to a
noise that appeared to be very near him.  It exactly resembled the
barking of a fox--a sound with which Caspar was familiar, having often
heard foxes bark in his native country.  The bark, however, appeared to
him to be louder and more distinct than that of a common fox.

"Perhaps," said he to himself, "the foxes of these mountains are bigger
than our German reynards, and can therefore bark louder.  Let me see if
it be a fox.  I'm not going to waste a bullet on him either; but I
should like just to have a look at a Himalaya fox."

With these reflections Caspar stole softly through the grass in the
direction whence issued the sounds.

He had not advanced many paces when he came in sight of an animal
differing altogether from a fox; but the very one that was making the
noise.  This was certain, for while he stood regarding it, he perceived
it in the very act of uttering that noise, or _barking_, as we already
called it.

Caspar felt very much inclined to laugh aloud, on perceiving that the
barking animal was neither fox, nor dog, nor yet a wolf, nor any other
creature that is known to bark, but on the contrary an animal of a far
different nature--a deer.  Yes, it was really a deer that was giving
utterance to those canine accents.

It was a small, slightly-made creature, standing about two feet in
height, with horns seven or eight inches long.  It might have passed for
an antelope; but Caspar observed that on each horn there was an antler--
a very little one, only an inch or so in length--and that decided him
that it must be an animal of the deer family.  Its colour was light red,
its coat short and smooth, and, on a closer view, Caspar saw that it had
a tusk in each jaw, projecting outside the mouth, something like the
tushes of the musk-deer.  It was, in fact, a closely allied species.  It
was the "kakur," or "barking-deer;" so called from its barking habit,
which had drawn the attention of the hunter upon it.

Of the barking-deer, like most other deer of India, there are several
varieties very little known to naturalists; and the species called the
"muntjak" (_Cervus vaginalis_) is one of these.  It also has the
protruding tushes, and the solitary antler upon its horns.

The "barking-deer" is common on the lower hills of the Himalaya
Mountains, as high as seven or eight thousand feet; but they sometimes
wander up the courses of rivers, or valley gorges, to a much higher
elevation; and the one now observed by Caspar had possibly strayed up
the glacier valley in midsummer, guided by curiosity, or some instinct,
that carried it into the beautiful valley that lay beyond.  Poor little
fellow! it never found its way back again; for Caspar bored its body
through and through with a bullet from his right-hand barrel, and hung
its bleeding carcass on the branch of a tree.

He did not shoot it upon sight, however.  He hesitated for some time
whether it would be prudent to waste a shot upon so tiny a morsel, and
had even permitted it to run away.

As it went off, he was surprised at a singular noise which it made in
running, not unlike the rattling of two pieces of loose bone knocked
sharply together; in fact, a pair of castanets.  This he could hear
after it had got fifty yards from him, and, perhaps, farther; but there
the creature suddenly stopped, turned its head round, and stood barking
as before.

Caspar could not make out the cause of such a strange noise, nor,
indeed, has any naturalist yet offered an explanation of this
phenomenon.  Perhaps it is the cracking of the hoofs against each other,
or, more likely, the two divisions of each hoof coming sharply together,
when raised suddenly from the ground.  It is well-known that a similar,
only much louder noise, is made by the long hoofs of the great
moose-deer; and the little kakur probably exhibits the same phenomenon
on a smaller scale.

Caspar did not speculate long about the cause.  The creature, as it
stood right before the muzzle of his gun, now offered too tempting a
shot, and the right-hand barrel put an end to its barking.

"You're not what I came after," soliloquised Caspar; "but the old stag's
no great eating, he's too tough for me.  You, my little fellow, look
more tender, and, I dare say, will make capital venison.  Hang there,
then, till I return for you!"

So saying, Caspar, having already strung the kakur's legs, lifted the
carcass, and hung it to the branch of a tree.

Then, reloading his right-hand barrel with a fresh bullet, he continued
on in search of the herd of yaks.



CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR.

THE ARGUS-PHEASANT.

Caspar proceeded with increased caution.  His design was to _stalk_ the
wild oxen; and he had left Fritz at the hut, as the dog could be of no
use in that sort of hunting.

He intended to stalk the animals with more than ordinary caution, for
two reasons.  The first was, of course, in order to get a shot at them;
but there was another reason why he should be careful, and that was, the
fierce and dangerous nature of the game.  He had not forgotten the way
in which the old bull had behaved at their last interview; and Karl had
particularly cautioned him, before setting out, to act prudently, and to
keep out of the way of the bull's horns.  He was not to fire at the
yaks, unless there was a tree near, or some other shelter, to which he
could retreat if pursued by the bull.

The necessity, therefore, of choosing such a point of attack, would make
his stalk all the more difficult.

He walked silently on, sometimes through spots of open ground; at
others, traversing belts of woodland, or tracts of thickety jungle.
Wherever there was a reach, or open space, he stopped before going out
of the cover, and looked well before him.  He had no wish to come plump
on the game he was in search of, lest he might get too close to the old
bull.  Fifty or sixty yards was the distance he desired; and, with the
large bullets his gun carried, he would have been near enough at that.

Several kinds of large birds flew up from his path, as he advanced;
among others, the beautiful argus-pheasant, that almost rivals the
peacock in the splendour of its plumage.  These rare creatures would
whirr upward, and alight among the branches of the trees overhead; and,
strange to say, although nearly as large as peacocks, and of a most
striking and singular form, Caspar could never get his eyes upon them
after they had once perched.

It is the habit of these birds, when aware of the presence of the
hunter, to remain perfectly silent and motionless, and it requires the
keenest eyes to make them out among the leaves.  In fact, the very
beauty of their singular plumage, which makes the argus-pheasant so
marked and attractive an object when side by side with other birds, is
the very thing which, amid the foliage of trees, renders it so difficult
to be seen.  Ocellated as the bird is all over its body, wings, and
tail, the general-effect is such as rather to conceal it.  A disk of the
same size of an unbroken colour, even though the tints be less
brilliant, is far more likely to arrest the eye-glance.  Besides, the
collected foliage of the trees, when gazed at from beneath, presents a
species of ocellation, to which that of the argus-pheasant is in some
way assimilated.  This may be a provision of nature, for the protection
of this beautiful and otherwise helpless bird; for it is no great
creature at a flight, with all its fine plumes; and, but for its power
of thus concealing itself, would easily fall a prey to the sportsman.

Naturalists often, and, perhaps, oftener hunters, have noted this
adaptation of the colour of wild animals to their haunts and habits.
The jaguars, the leopards, and panthers, whose bright, yellow skins,
beautifully spotted as they are, would seem to render them most
conspicuous objects, are, in reality, the most difficult to be perceived
amid the haunts which they inhabit.  An animal of equal size, and of the
dullest colouring, provided it were uniform, would be more easily seen
than they.  Their very beauty renders them invisible; since their
numerous spots, interrupting the uniformity of colour, breaks up the
large disk of their bodies into a hundred small ones, and even destroys,
to the superficial glance, the form which would otherwise betray their
presence.

For some such reason then the argus-pheasant is most difficult to be
seen, when once settled on his perch among the leaves and twigs of the
trees.  But though himself not observed, he sees all that passes below.
He is well named.  Although the eyes all over his body be blind, he
carries a pair in his head, that rival those of the famed watchman from
whom he borrows his surname.  He keeps the sportsman well in sight; and
should the latter succeed in espying him, the argus knows well when he
is discovered, and the moment a cock clicks or a barrel is poised
upward, he is off with a loud whirr that causes the woods to ring.

But, as already stated, he is no great flyer.  The smallness of the
primary quills of his wing--as well as the unwieldy size of the
secondaries, forms an impediment to his progress through the air, and
his flight is short and heavy.  He is a good runner, however, like all
birds of his kind; and he passes rapidly over the ground, using his
wings in running like the wild turkey, to which bird he is kindred.
When the argus-pheasant is at rest or unexcited, his plumage is neither
so bright nor beautiful.  It is when showing himself off in the presence
of his females that he appears to best advantage.  Then he expands his
spotted wings, and trails them on the ground in the same manner as the
peacock.  His tail, too, becomes spread and raised erect, whereas at
other times it is carried in a line with the body with the two long
feathers folded over each other.

The argus-pheasant (which closet-naturalists now say is not a pheasant,
but an _argus_) is peculiar to the southern parts of Asia, though the
limits of its range are not well understood.  It is found in all parts
of India, and also, as is supposed, in China, even in the northern
provinces of that country.

But the argus is not the only beautiful pheasant of these regions.
India, or rather southern Asia, is the true home of the pheasant tribe.
Already nearly a dozen species of these birds, some of them far more
beautiful than the birds of paradise, are known to naturalists; and when
the ornithology of the Indian Islands has been thoroughly investigated,
a still greater number will be found to exist there.

The Impeyan pheasant, larger than the common fowl, rivals the crested
peacock in the brilliancy of its hues.  No words can give any adequate
idea of the splendour of this bird.  Nearly the whole surface of its
plumage is resplendent--dazzling with changing hues of green and
steel-blue, of violet and gold.  It looks as if its body was clothed in
a scale armour of bright shining metal, while the plumage is soft and
velvety to the touch.  This magnificent bird is a native of the Himalaya
Mountains; where is also found another splendid species, the
peacock-pheasant of Thibet, the latter closely allied to a still more
gorgeous bird, the crested polyplectron of the Moluccas.

One cannot look upon these lovely winged creatures without a feeling of
gratitude to Him who sent them to adorn the earth, and give pleasure to
all who may behold them.



CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE.

STALKING THE YAKS.

Caspar was not out pheasant-shooting, and therefore these beautiful
birds were permitted to fly off unscathed.  Caspar's game was the
grunting bull.

Where could the herd be?  He had already traversed half the extent of
the valley without finding the yaks; but there was nothing singular in
this.  There was plenty of covert among the rocks and woods; and wild
animals, however large, have an instinct or a faculty of concealing
themselves that often surprises the hunter.  Even the gigantic elephant
will get out of sight amidst thin jungle, where you might suppose his
huge body could hardly be hidden; and the great black buffalo often
springs unexpectedly out of a bushy covert not much bigger than his own
body.  Just as partridges can squat unseen in the shortest stubble, or
squirrels lie hid along the slenderest branch, so have the larger wild
animals the faculty of concealing themselves in a covert proportionately
scanty.

The young hunter was aware of this fact; and therefore was not so much
surprised that he did not at once come in sight of the yaks.  The former
attack upon them, resulting in the loss of two of their number, had
rendered them wary; and the noises made in building the hut had, no
doubt, driven them to the most secluded corner of the valley.  Thither
Caspar was bending his steps.

He was calculating that they would be found in some cover, and was
beginning to regret that he had not brought Fritz, instead of trying to
stalk them, when all at once the herd came under his eyes.  They were
quietly browsing out in a stretch of open ground--the young calves, as
on the former occasion, playing with each other, tearing about over the
ground, biting one another, and uttering their tiny grunts, like so many
young porkers.  The cows and yearlings were feeding unconcernedly--
occasionally raising their heads and looking around, but not with any
signs of uneasiness or fear.  The bull was not in sight!

"Where can he be?" inquired Caspar of himself.  "Perhaps these may be a
different herd; `one, two, three;'" and Caspar went on to tell over the
individuals of the flock.

"Yes," he continued, muttering to himself, "they are the same, I fancy:
three cows--four yearlings--the calves--exactly the number--all except
the bull.--Where can the old rascal have concealed himself?"

And with his eyes Caspar swept the whole of the open space, and looked
narrowly along the selvedge of the timber which grew around it.  No
bull, however, was to be seen.

"Now where can the old grunter have gone to?" again inquired Caspar of
himself.  "Is he off by himself, or along with some other herd?  Surely
there is but the one family in this valley.  Yaks are gregarious
animals: Karl says so.  If there were more of them, they would be all
together.  The bull must be ranging abroad by himself, on some business
of his own.  After all, I suspect he's not far off.  I dare say he's in
yonder thicket.  I'd wager a trifle the knowing old fellow has a trick
in his head.  He's keeping sentry over the flock, while he himself
remains unseen.  In that way he has the advantage of any enemy who may
assail them.  A wolf, or bear, or any preying beast that should want to
attack the calves where they now are, would be certain to approach them
by that very thicket.  Indeed, I should have done so myself, if I didn't
know that there _was_ a bull.  I should have crouched round the timber
and got under cover of the bushes, which would have brought me nicely
within range.  But now I shall do no such thing; for I suspect strongly
the old boy's in the bushes.  He would be on me with a rush if I went
that way, and in the thicket there's not a tree big enough to shelter a
chased cat.  It's all brush and thorn bushes.  It won't do; I shan't
stalk them from that direction; but how else can I approach them?
There's no other cover.  Ha! yonder rock will serve my purpose!"

Caspar was not half the time in going through this soliloquy that you
have been in reading it.  It was a mental process entirely, and, of
course, carried on with the usual rapidity of thought.  The interjection
which ended it, and the allusion to a rock, were caused by his
perceiving that a certain rock might afford him the necessary cover for
approaching the game.

This rock he had observed long before--in fact, the moment he had seen
the herd.  He could not have failed to observe it, for it lay right in
the middle of the open ground, neither tree nor bush being near to hide
it.  It was of enormous size, too--nearly as big as a hovel,
square-sided and apparently flat-topped.  Of course, he had noticed it
at the first glance, but had not thought of making it a stalking-horse--
the thicket seeming to offer him a better advantage.

Now, however, when he dared not enter the thicket--lest he might there
encounter the bull--he turned his attention to the rock.

By keeping the boulder between him and the yaks, he could approach
behind it, and that would bring him within distance of the one or two of
the herd that were nearest.  Indeed, the whole flock appeared to be
inclining towards the rock; and he calculated, that by the time he could
get there himself they would all be near enough, and he might make
choice of the biggest.

Up to this time he had remained under cover of the timber, at the point
where he first came in sight of the yaks.  Still keeping in the bushes,
he made a circuit, until the rock was put between him and the herd.  Big
as the boulder was, it hardly covered the whole flock; and much caution
would be required to get up to it without alarming them.  He saw that if
he could once pass over the first one hundred yards, the rock, then
subtending a larger angle of vision, would shield him from their sight,
and he might walk fearlessly forward.  But the first hundred yards would
be awkward stalking.  Crawling flat upon his breast appeared to be his
only chance.  But Caspar had often stalked chamois on his native hills;
and many a crawl had he made, over rocks and gravel, and ice and snow.
He thought nothing, therefore, of progression in this way, and a hundred
yards would be a mere bagatelle.

Without farther hesitation, therefore, he dropped to his marrow-bones,
and then flat upon his breast, and in this attitude commenced wriggling
and shuffling along like a gigantic salamander.  Fortunately the grass
grew a foot or more in height, and that concealed him from the view of
the yaks.  On he went, pushing his gun before him, and every now and
then raising his eyes cautiously above the sward to note the position of
the herd.  When it changed, he also deflected slightly from his course--
so as always to keep the centre of the rock aligned upon the bodies of
the animals.

After about ten minutes of this horizontal travelling, the hunter found
himself within thirty paces of the great boulder.  Its broad sides now
appeared sufficient to cover the whole flock; and as crawling along the
ground was by no means pleasant, Caspar was fain to give it up, and take
once more to his feet.  He rose erect, therefore; and running nimbly
forward, in another moment he stood behind the rock.



CHAPTER THIRTY SIX.

CASPAR RETREATS TO THE ROCK.

Caspar now perceived that the rock was not all in one piece.  In other
words, there were two rocks--both of them immense boulders, but of very
unequal size.  The largest, as already observed, was of the size of a
small house, or it might be compared to a load of hay; while the smaller
was not much bigger than the wagon.  They lay almost contiguous to each
other, with a narrow space, about a foot in width, forming a sort of
alley between them.  This space resembled a cleft, as if the two blocks
had once been united, and some terrible force had cloven them asunder.

Caspar only glanced at these peculiarities as he came up--his eye
mechanically searching for the best point of the rock to shelter him
from the game, while it afforded him an opportunity of aiming at them.
It was altogether a very awkward cover--the rock was square-sided as a
wall, with no jutting point that he could crawl behind and rest his gun
over.  In fact, at the corners it rather hung over, resting on a base
narrower than its diameter.  There was no bush near to it--not even long
grass to accommodate him.  The ground was quite bare, and had the
appearance of being much trampled, as if it was a favourite resort--in
fact, a "rubbing-stone" for the yaks.  It was their tracks Caspar saw
around it--some of them quite fresh--and conspicuous among the rest were
some that by their size must have been made by the hoofs of the bull.

The sight of these large fresh tracks conducted Caspar, and very
suddenly too, into a train of reflections that were anything but
agreeable.

"The bull's tracks!" muttered he to himself.  "Quite fresh, by thunder!
Why he must have been here but a minute ago!  What if--"

Here Caspar's heart thumped so violently against his ribs, that he could
scarce finish the interrogation.

"_What if he be on the other side of the rock_?"

The hunter was in a dilemma.  Up to that moment he had never thought of
the probability of the bull being behind the rock.  He had taken it into
his fancy, that the thicket must be the place of his concealment, but
without any very good reason did he fancy this.  It was assigning more
cunning to the animal than was natural; and now on second thoughts
Caspar perceived that it was far more probable the bull should be
sunning himself on the other side of the great boulder!  There he would
be near to the herd,--and likely enough there he _was_.

"By thunder!" mentally exclaimed Caspar, "if he be there, the sooner I
get back to the timber the better for my health.  I never thought of it.
He could run me down in half a minute.  There's no place to escape to.
Ha!--what!--good!"

These ejaculations escaped from the hunter as he cast his eyes upward.
It was a peculiarity in the form of the rocks that had caused him to
utter them.  He noticed that the lesser one had a sloping ridge that
could be easily ascended; and from its highest point the top of the
larger might also be reached by a little active climbing.

"Good!" repeated he to himself; "I'll be safe enough there, and I can
easily get up if I'm chased.  The top of the rock's equal to any tree.
It'll do if I am put to the pinch; so here goes for a shot, bull or no
bull!"

Saying this, he once more looked to his gun; and kneeling down close in
to the great rock, he commenced shuffling round one of its impending
corners, in order to get within view of the herd.

He did not move one inch forward without looking well before him into
the plain where the yaks were feeding, but quite as anxiously did he
bend his eyes around the edge of the boulder, where he surmised the bull
might be.  He even listened at intervals, expecting to hear the latter
breathing or giving a grunt, or some other sign, by which his presence
might be made _known_.

If behind the rock at all he must be very near, thought Caspar--near
enough for his breathing to be heard; and once Caspar fancied that he
actually heard a grunt, which did not proceed from any of the herd.

The hunter, however, had less fear now, as he believed he could retreat
to the rock before even the swiftest animal could overtake him.  He
therefore moved on with sufficient confidence.

You are not to suppose that all these thoughts and movements occupied
much time.  There were not five minutes consumed from the time Caspar
arrived at the rocks, until he had taken all his measures; and another
minute or two were occupied in creeping round within view of the herd--
where at length Caspar arrived.

As yet no bull was seen.  He might still be there, but if so, he was
farther round the corner of the rock; and the sight of the others now
fair before the muzzle of Caspar's gun drove all thoughts of the bull
out of his mind.  He resolved to fire at the nearest.

Quick as thought the gun was to his shoulder, his finger touched the
trigger, and the loud report echoed from the distant cliffs.  The ball
told, and a cow was bowled over, and lay sprawling on the plain.  Bang
went the second barrel, and a young bull with a broken leg went hobbling
off toward the thicket.  The rest of the herd tore away at top speed,
and were soon lost sight of in the bushes.

A little calf alone remained by the cow that had fallen.  It ran
frisking around, uttering its singular cries, and seemingly astonished
and unable to comprehend the catastrophe that had befallen its mother!

Under other circumstances Caspar would have pitied that calf--for though
a hunter, he was not hard-hearted.  But just then he had something else
to do than give way to pity.

He had scarce aimed his second shot--even while his finger was still
resting on the trigger--when a sound reached his ears that made his
heart leap.  It spoiled his aim in fact, or the yearling would have had
it between his ribs instead of in his hind-leg.  That sound could be
nothing else than the grunt of the old bull himself; and so close to
Caspar did it appear that the hunter suddenly dropped the muzzle of his
gun, and looked around thinking the animal was right by him!

He did not see the bull on looking around; but he knew the latter could
not be many feet off, just behind the angle of the boulder.  Under this
impression Caspar sprang to his feet, and ran with lightning speed to
ascend the rock.



CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN.

FACE TO FACE WITH A FIERCE BULL.

Caspar leaped on to the lower one, and scrambled up its sloping ridge.
His eyes were turned more behind than before him, for he expected every
moment to see the bull at his skirts.  To his astonishment no bull had
yet appeared, although as he was running around the rock twice or thrice
had he heard his terrific grunting.

He now faced toward the summit, determined to climb up to the safest
place.  From the top he would be able to see all around, and could there
watch the movements of the bull, as he fancied, in perfect security.  He
laid his hand on the edge of the rock and drew himself over it.  It was
as much as he could do.  The parapet was chin high, and it required all
his strength to raise himself up.

His attention was so occupied in the endeavour, that he was fairly upon
the top ere he thought of looking before him; and when he did look, he
saw, to his amazement and terror, that he was not alone.  _The bull was
there too_!

Yes! the bull was there, and had been there all the while.  The top of
the boulder was a flat table, several yards in length and breadth, and
upon this the old bull had been quietly reclining, basking himself in
the sun, and watching his wives and children as they browsed on the
plain below.  As he had been lying down, and close to that edge of the
table which was most distant from Caspar, the latter could not have
perceived him while approaching the rock.  He did not even think of
turning his eyes in that direction, as he would as soon have thought of
looking for the old bull in the top of one of the trees.  Caspar had
quite forgotten what Karl had told him,--that the summits of rocks and
isolated boulders are the favourite haunts of the yaks,--else he might
have kept out of the scrape he had now fairly got into.

On perceiving his dilemma, the young hunter was quite paralysed; and for
some moments stood aghast, not knowing how to act.

Fortunately for him the bull had been standing at the farthest extremity
of the table, looking out over the plain.  The trouble he was in about
his family occupied all his attention, and he stood loudly grunting to
them as if calling them back.  He was unable to comprehend what had
caused such a rout among them; although he had already experienced the
dire effect of those loud detonations.  He was "craning" forward over
the edge, as if half determined to leap from the summit, instead of
turning to the easier descent by which he had got up.

As Caspar scrambled up to the ledge, the rattle of his accoutrements on
the rock reached the ears of the bull; and just as the former had got to
his feet the latter wheeled round, and the two were now face to face!

There was a moment's pause.  Caspar stood in terror; his antagonist,
perhaps, also surprised at the unexpected rencontre.  It was a very
short pause, indeed.  Almost in the next instant the fierce yak,
uttering his terrific cry, charged forward.

There was no chance to evade the shock by springing to one side or the
other.  The space was too circumscribed for such a manoeuvre, and the
most adroit matador could not have executed it where Caspar stood.  He
was too near the edge of the rock to make the experiment.  His only hope
lay in bounding back as he had come; which he did almost mechanically
upon the instant.

The impetus of the leap, and the slanting surface of the lower boulder,
carried him onward to the bottom; and, unable any longer to retain his
feet, he fell forward upon his face.  He heard the rattle of the bull's
hoofs upon the rock behind him; and before he could recover his feet
again he felt the brute trampling over him.

Fortunately he was not hurt, and fortunately the same impetus that had
flung him upon his face also carried his antagonist far beyond him; and
before the latter could turn from his headlong charge, the young hunter
again stood erect.

But whither was he to run?  The trees were too far off;--oh! he could
never reach them.  The fierce beast would be on him ere he could half
cross the open ground, and would drive those terrible horns into his
back.  Whither?--whither?

Confused and irresolute, he turned and rushed back up the rock.

This time he scaled the slope more nimbly; more lightly did he leap upon
the ledge, but without any feeling of hope.  It was but the quick rush
of despair,--the mechanical effort of terror.

The manoeuvre did not yield him a minute's respite.  His fierce
antagonist saw it all, and went charging after.

Lightly the huge brute bounded up the slope, and then leaped upon the
table, as if he had been a chamois or a goat.  No pause made he, but
rushed straight on with foaming tongue and flaming eye-balls.

Now, indeed, did Caspar believe his last moment had come.  He had rushed
across the table of granite, and stood upon its extremest end.  There
was no chance to get back to the place where he had ascended.  His
vengeful antagonist was in the track, and he could not pass him.  He
must either spring down from where he stood, or be tossed from the spot
upon the horns of the fierce bull.  Dizzy was the height,--over twenty
feet,--but there was no alternative but take the leap.  He launched
himself into the air.

He came down feet foremost, but the terrible shock stunned him, and he
fell upon his side.  The sky was darkened above him.  It was the huge
body of the bull that had bounded after, and the next moment he heard
the heavy sound of the animal's hoofs as they came in contact with the
plain.

The hunter struggled to regain his feet.  He rose and fell again.  One
of his limbs refused to perform its functions.  He felt there was
something wrong; he believed that his leg was broken!

Even this fearful thought did not cause the brave youth to yield.  He
saw that the bull had recovered himself; and was once more approaching
him.  He scrambled towards the rock, dragging the useless limb behind
him.

You will suppose that there was no longer a hope for him, and that the
wild ox rushing upon him must certainly gore him to death.  And so he
would have done, had not Caspar been in the hands of Providence, who
gave him a stout heart, and enabled him to make still another effort for
his safety.

As he turned toward the boulder, an object came before his eyes that
filled him with fresh hopes.  That object was the cleft between the
rocks.  It was, as already described, about a foot in width, and
separated the two boulders at all points,--except along the top, where
they rested against each other.

Caspar's quick mind at once perceived the advantage.  If he could only
reach this crevice, and crawl into it in time, he might still be saved.
It was big enough for his body; it would be too narrow to admit that of
his huge antagonist.

On hands and knees he glided along with desperate speed.  He reached the
entrance of the crevice.  He clutched the angle of rock, and drew
himself far inward.  He had not a moment to spare.  He heard the horns
of the bull crash against the cheeks of the chasm; but the charge was
followed by a grunt of disappointment uttered by the furious animal.

A cry of joy involuntarily escaped from the lips of the hunter,--who
felt that he was saved!



CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT.

CASPAR IN THE CLEFT.

Caspar breathed freely.  He had need; for the peril he had passed, and
the rushing backward and forward, and springing over the rocks, had
quite taken away his breath.  He could not have lasted another minute.

The bull, thus balked of his revenge, seemed to become more furious than
ever.  He rushed to and fro, uttering savage grunts, and at intervals
dashing his horns against the rocks, as if he hoped to break them to
pieces, and open a passage to his intended victim.  Once he charged with
such fury that his head entered the cleft till his steaming snout almost
touched Caspar where he lay.  Fortunately, the thick hairy shoulders of
the bull hindered him from advancing farther; and in drawing back his
head, he found that he had wedged himself; and it was with some
difficulty that he succeeded in detaching his horns from the rock!

Caspar took advantage of his struggles; and seizing a stone that lay
near at hand, he mauled the bull so severely about the snout, that the
brute was fain to get his head clear again; and although he still stood
madly pawing by the outside of the cleft, he took care not to repeat his
rude assault.

Caspar now seeing that he was safe from any immediate danger, began to
feel uneasiness about his broken limb.  He knew not how long he might be
detained there--for it was evident that the yak was implacable, and
would not leave him while he could keep his eyes upon him.  It is the
nature of these animals to hold their resentment so long as the object
of their vengeance is in sight.  Only when that is hidden from them, do
they seem to _forget_--for it is probable they never _forgive_.

The bull showed no signs of leaving the ground.  On the contrary, he
paced backward and forward, grunting as fiercely as ever, and at
intervals making a rush towards the entrance as if he still had hopes of
reaching his victim.

Caspar now regarded these demonstrations with indifference, he was far
more concerned about his limb; and as soon as he could turn himself into
a proper position, he began to examine it.

He felt the bone carefully from the knee downward.  He knew the thigh
was safe enough.  It was his ankle-joint, he feared, was broken.  The
ankle was already swollen and black--badly swollen, but Caspar could
detect no evidence of a fracture of the bones.

"After all," soliloquised he, "it may be only sprained.  If so, it will
be all right yet."

He continued to examine it, until he at length arrived at the conviction
that it was "only a sprain."

This brought him into good spirits again, though the leg was very
painful; but Caspar was a boy who could bear pain very stoically.

He now began to ponder upon his situation.  How was he to be rescued
from his fierce besieger?  Would Karl and Ossaroo hear him if he were to
shout?  That was doubtful enough.  He could not be much less than a mile
from them; and there were woods and rough ground between him and them.
They might be chopping, too, and would not hear his calls.  Still, they
would not always be chopping, and he could keep up a constant shouting
till they did hear him.  He had already noticed that in the valley, shut
in on all sides as it was by cliffs, sounds were transmitted to a great
distance--in fact, the cliffs seem to act as conductors somewhat after
the manner of a whispering-gallery.  No doubt, then, Karl and Ossaroo
would hear him--especially if he gave one of his shrill whistles; for
Caspar knew how to whistle very loudly, and he had often made the
Bavarian hills ring again.

He was about to make the Himalayas ring, and had already placed his
fingers to his lips, when the thought occurred to him that it would be
wrong to do so.

"No," said he, after reflecting a moment, "I shall not call them.  My
whistle would bring Karl, I know.  He would come running at the signal.
I might not be able to stop him till he had got quite up to the rocks
here, and then the bull!  No--Karl's life might be sacrificed instead of
mine.  I shall not whistle."

With these reflections, he removed his fingers from his lips, and
remained silent.

"If I only had my gun," thought he, after a pause,--"if I only had my
gun, I'd soon settle matters with you, you ugly brute!  You may thank
your stars I have dropped it."

The gun had escaped from Caspar's hands as he fell upon his face on
first rushing down from the rock.  It was no doubt lying near the spot
where he had fallen, but he was not sure where it had been flung to.

"If it was not for this ankle," he continued, "I'd chance a rush for it
yet.  Oh! if I could only get the gun here; how I'd fix the old grunter
off, before he could whisk that tail of his twice--that I would."

"Stay!" continued the hunter, after some minutes' pause, "my foot seems
to get well.  It's badly swollen, but the pain's not much.  It's only a
sprain!  Hurrah!--it's only a sprain!  By thunder!  I'll try to get the
gun."

With this resolve, Caspar raised himself to a standing attitude, holding
by the rocks on both sides.

The lane between them just gave him room enough to move his body along;
and the cleft being of a uniform width from side to side, he could get
out on either side he might choose.

But, strange to relate, the old bull, whenever he saw the hunter move
towards the opposite side, rushed round to the same, and stood prepared
to receive him upon his horns!

This piece of cunning, on the part of his antagonist, was quite
unexpected by Caspar.  He had hoped he would be able to make a sally
from one side of the rock while his adversary guarded the other; but he
now saw that the animal was as cunning as himself.  It was but a few
yards round from one side to the other, and it would be easy for the
bull to overtake him, if he only ventured six feet from the entrance.

He made one attempt as a sort of feint or trial; but was driven back
again into the crevice almost at the point of his antagonist's horns.

The result was, that the yak, now suspecting some design, watched his
victim more closely, never for a moment taking his eyes off him.

But withal Caspar had gained one advantage from the little sally he had
made.  He had seen the gun where it lay, and had calculated the distance
it was off.  Could he only obtain thirty seconds of time, he felt
certain he might secure the weapon; and his thoughts were now bent on
some plan to gain this time.

All at once a plan was suggested to him, and he resolved to make trial
of it.

The yak habitually stood with his head close up to the crevice--the
froth dropping from his mouth, his eyes rolling fiercely, and his head
lowered almost to the earth.

Caspar could have thrust his head with a spear--if he had been armed
with one--or he could even have belaboured it with a cudgel.

"Is there no way," thought he, "that I can blind the brute?  Ha!  By
thunder, I have it!" exclaimed he, hitting upon an idea that seemed to
promise the desired result.

As quick as thought he lifted over his head his powder-horn and belt;
and, then stripping off his jacket, took the latter in both hands, held
it spread out as wide as the space would permit.  He now approached the
edge of the cleft in hopes of being able to fling the jacket over the
horns of the bull, and, by thus blinding him, get time to make a rush
for his gun.  The idea was a good one; but, alas! it failed in the
execution.  Caspar's arms were confined between the boulders, and he was
unable to fling the jacket adroitly.  It readied the frontlet of the
bull; but the latter, with a disdainful toss of his head, flung it to
one side, and stood fronting his adversary, as watchful of his movements
as ever.

Caspar's heart sunk at the failure of his scheme, and he retreated
despairingly back into the cleft.

"I shall have to call Karl and Ossaroo in the end," thought he.  "No!
not yet!--not yet!  Another plan!  I'll manage it yet, by thunder!"

What was Caspar's new plan?  We shall soon see.  He was not long in
putting it to the test.  A youth quick in action was Caspar.

He seized his huge powder-horn, and took out the stopper.  Once more he
crept forward towards the bull, and as near the snout of the latter as
it was safe for him to go.  Holding the horn by its thick end, and
reaching far out, he poured upon the levellest and driest spot a large
quantity of powder; and, then drawing the horn gradually nearer, he laid
a train for several feet inward.

Little did the grunting yak know the surprise that awaited him.

Caspar now took out his flint, steel, and touch-paper, and in a moment
more struck a fire, and touched off the train.

As he had calculated, the exploding powder flashed outward and upward,
taking the bull by surprise with the sudden shock, at the same time that
it enveloped him in its thick sulphury smoke.  The animal was heard
routing and plunging about, not knowing which way to run.

This was the moment for Caspar; who, having already prepared himself for
the rush, sprang suddenly forth, and ran towards his gun.

With eagerness he grasped the weapon; and, forgetting all about his
sprained ankle, ran back with the speed of a deer.  Even then, he was
not a moment too soon in reaching his retreat; for the bull, having
recovered from his surprise, saw and pursued him, and once more sent his
horns crashing against the rocks.

"Now," said Caspar, addressing his fierce besieger, and speaking with a
confidence he had not hitherto felt, "that time you were more scared
than hurt; but the next time I burn powder, the case will be rather
different, I fancy.  Stand where you are, old boy.  Another minute allow
me! and I'll raise this siege, without giving you either terms or
quarter."

As Caspar continued to talk in this way, he busied himself in loading
his gun.  He loaded both barrels--though one would have been sufficient;
for the first shot did the business clear as a whistle.  It tumbled the
old bull off his legs, and put an end to his grunting at once and for
ever!

Caspar now came forth from the cleft; and, placing his fingers to his
lips, caused the valley to ring with his loud whistle.  A similar
whistle came pealing back through the woods; and, in fifteen minutes'
time, Karl and Ossaroo were seen running forward to the spot; and soon
after had heard the particulars of Caspar's adventure, and were
congratulating him on his escape.

The yaks were skinned and quartered, and then carried home to the hut.
The young bull, that had been wounded, also turned up close at hand; and
was finished by the spear of Ossaroo.  Of course, he too was skinned and
quartered, and carried home; but all this labour was performed by Karl
and Ossaroo; for Caspar's ankle had got so much worse, that he had
himself to be carried to the hut on the backs of Ossaroo and his
brother.



CHAPTER THIRTY NINE.

THE SEROW.

Karl and Ossaroo had their adventure, though it was not of so dangerous
a character as that of Caspar.  They were spectators rather than actors
in it.  Fritz was the real actor, and Fritz had come off only second
best, as a huge gash in his side testified.

They had chosen a pine, and were busy hacking away at it, when a
confused noise--a mixture of yelping and barking--fell upon their ears,
and caused them to hold their hands, and listen.  It was a thin piece of
woods, where they were--composed principally of straggling pine-trees
without underwood, and they could see to a distance of several hundred
yards around them.

As they stood looking out, a large animal, evidently in flight, came
dashing past the spot.  He did not appear to be a fast runner, and they
had a good view of him.  He was nearly as large as a jackass, and had
something of the appearance of one, but a pair of stout horns, twelve
inches in length, and very sharp-pointed, showed that he was a
cloven-hoofed animal.  His hair was coarse and rough; dark brown on the
upper part of his body, reddish on the sides, and whitish underneath.
Along the back of the neck he was maned like a jackass, and the neck
itself was thick with rather a large head to it.  The horns curved
backwards so as to lie close along the neck; the legs of the animal were
thick and stout, and he appeared to be altogether a stupid creature, and
ran with a clumsy ungainly gait.

Neither Karl nor Ossaroo had ever seen such an animal before, but they
guessed it to be the "thar," or "serow,"--one of the tribe of antelopes,
known as the _goat-like_ antelopes,--of which there are several species
in the East Indies.

They guessed aright.  It was the serow, (_Capricornis bubalina_).

But the creature was not alone.  Although we have said he was not
running very swiftly, he was going as fast as his thick legs would carry
him.  And he had good reason too, for, close upon his heels, came a pack
of what Karl supposed to be red wolves, but which Ossaroo recognised as
the wild dogs of India.  There were about a dozen of these, each nearly
as large as a wolf, with long necks and bodies, somewhat long muzzles,
and high, erect, round-tipped ears.  Their general colour was red,
turning to reddish white underneath.  The tops of their long bushy tails
were black, and there was a brown patch between the orbits of their
eyes, which added to the fierce wolf-like expression that characterised
them.  It was from them that the howling and yelping had proceeded.
They were in full cry after the serow.

Fritz, on hearing the music, would have bounded forth and joined them;
but to keep him out of harm's way, Karl had tied him to a tree before
commencing work, and Fritz, _nolens volens_, was compelled to keep his
place.

The chase swept by, and both dogs and antelope were soon lost to the
sight, though their howling could still be heard through the trees.

After a time it grew louder, and the wood-cutters, perceiving that the
chase was again coming in their direction, stood watching and listening.
A second time the serow appeared crossing the open tract, and the dogs,
as before, close at his heels.

Once more all disappeared, and then, after a short interval, "hark back"
was the cry; and, to their surprise, Karl and the shikarree again saw
the wild dogs pressing the serow through the woods.

Now it appeared to both that the dogs might easily have overtaken the
antelope at any moment; for they were close up to his heels, and a
single spring, which any of them might have given, would have launched
them upon its flanks.  Indeed, it appeared as if they were running it
only for their amusement, and at any moment could have overtaken it!

This observation of our wood-cutters was partially true.  The wild dogs
could at any moment have overtaken the antelope, for they had done so
already; having turned it more than once.  But for all that, they were
not running it out of mere sport.  They were thus chasing the _game_
back and forward in order _to guide it to their breeding-place, and save
themselves the trouble of carrying its carcass thither_!  This was in
reality what the wild dogs were about, and this accounted for their odd
behaviour.  Ossaroo, who knew the wild dogs well, assured the Sahib
Karl, that such is their practice, that--whenever they have young ones--
they hunt the larger animals from point to point until they get them
close to their common burrowing place; that then they all spring upon
the victim, and worry it to death, leaving the puppies to approach the
carcass and mangle it at their pleasure!

The plant-hunter had already heard of this singular practice having been
observed in the "wild honden," or hunting-dogs of the Cape, and was
therefore less surprised at Ossaroo's account.

Of course it was not then that Karl and Ossaroo conversed upon these
topics.  They were too busy in watching the chase, which once more
passed within twenty yards of the spot where they were standing.

The serow seemed now to be quite done up, and it appeared as if his
pursuers might at any moment have pulled him down.  But this they
evidently did not wish to do.  They wanted to drive him a little
farther.

The creature, however, was not going to accommodate them.  He had run
enough.  A very large tree stood in his way.  Its trunk was many feet in
diameter, and great broad buttresses stood out from its flanks,
enclosing angular spaces between them, any of which would have made a
stall for a horse.  It was just the sort of place which the serow was
looking out for; and making a sharp rush for the tree, he entered one of
these divisions, and wheeling around, buttocks to the stump, stood
firmly to bay.

This sudden manoeuvre evidently disconcerted his fierce pursuers.  There
were many of them that knew the serow well, and trembled at the sight of
his horns when brought too close to them.  They knew his tactics too,
and were well aware that once in a position, like that he had now taken
up, he became a dangerous customer to deal with.

Knowing this, most of the old dogs held back.  But there were several
young ones in the pack, rash, hot-blooded fellows, who, vain of their
prowess, were ashamed to hang their tails at this crisis; and these,
without more ado, rushed in upon the antelope.  Then ensued a scene that
caused Ossaroo to clap his hands and shake his sides with laughter.  A
desperate struggle was carried on.  Right and left pitched the wild
dogs, some yelping, some skulking back, crippled and limping; while one
or two soon lay stretched out dead; transfixed as they had been by the
pointed horns of the antelope.  Ossaroo enjoyed this scene, for the
shikarree had a great dislike to these wild dogs, as they had often
interfered with his stalking.

How the battle would have ended, or whether the bold buck would have
beaten off his numerous enemies will never be known; for while the
contest was raging, the great boar-hound, Fritz, contrived somehow or
other to slip his fastening, and the next moment he was seen rushing
like a streak of fire towards the _melee_.  The wild dogs were as much
terrified by his sudden appearance in their midst as the quarry itself
could have been, and, without staying to examine the interloper, one and
all of them took to their heels, and soon disappeared behind the trees.

Fritz had never seen a serow before, but taking it for granted it was
fair game, he sprang at the creature on sight.  Better for Fritz had it
been a Saxon boar, for it cost him several sharp rips, and a long
struggle before he became master of the field; and it is doubtful
whether he would not have suffered still worse, had not a pea of lead
from the rifle of his master aided in bringing the strife to an end.

The game, but for its hide, was hardly worth faking home; as the flesh
of the serow is very coarse, and poor eating.  For all that, the animal
is eagerly hunted by the natives of the Himalayas; partly because it is
not difficult to come up with, and partly that these poor people are not
very epicurean in their appetites.



CHAPTER FORTY.

OSSAROO CHASED BY WILD DOGS.

If Ossaroo hated any living creature more than another, the wild dogs,
as already hinted at, were his particular aversion.  They had often
spoiled a stalk upon him, when he was in the act of bringing down an
axis or an antelope with his arrows, and they themselves were not worth
bending a bow upon.  Their flesh was not fit to be eaten, and their
skins were quite unsaleable.  In fact, Ossaroo regarded them as no
better than filthy vermin, to be destroyed only for the sake of
exterminating them.

Hence it was that the shikarree was so delighted, when he saw the old
serow dealing death among his canine antagonists.

But it was written in the book of fate, that Ossaroo should not sleep
that night until he had done penance for this exultation.

Another adventure was in store for him, which we shall now relate.

From the place where the yaks had been killed to the hut was a very long
distance--full three quarters of a mile; and, of course, transporting
the skins and meat thither required Karl and Ossaroo to make many
journeys backward and forward.  Caspar was laid up with his sprained
ankle, and could give them no assistance.  As we have said, they had to
carry _him_ home as well as the meat.

The work occupied them all the rest of the day, and, when twilight
arrived, there was still one joint to be got home.  For this joint
Ossaroo started alone, leaving the others at the hut to cook the supper.

On cutting up the meat, they had taken the precaution to hang the pieces
upon high branches, out of the reach of beasts of prey.  Experience had
taught them, that there were many of these in the place, ravenous enough
to devour a whole carcass in a few minutes.  What kind of wild beast had
carried off the flesh of the cow-yak, they knew not.  Karl and Caspar
believed they were wolves, for the wolf, in some form or other, is found
in every quarter of the globe; and in India there are two or three
distinct species--as the "landgah," or Nepaul wolf, (_Canis pallipes_),
and the "beriah," another Indian wolf, of a yellow colour, slenderly
made, and about the size of a greyhound, with long, erect ears, like the
jackal.  The jackal, too, which is only a smaller wolf, and the common
or brindled hyena, inhabit these countries; so that it was difficult to
say which of all these ravenous creatures had committed the depredation.
Ossaroo's opinion was, that it was done by _dogs_, not wolves; and,
perhaps, by the very pack that had that day been seen in pursuit of the
antelope.  It made no great difference, as far as that went; for these
same wild dogs are in reality more wolf than dog, and in habits quite as
ferocious and destructive as the wolves themselves.  But to return to
Ossaroo and his adventure.

When the shikarree arrived on the ground where the meat had been left,
he was not much surprised to see a number of wild dogs skulking about.
Half a dozen of them were standing under the joint, where it hung from
the branch; some of them in the act of springing upward, and all of them
regarding the tempting morsel with fierce, hungry looks.  The offal and
"giblets" they had already disposed of, so that not the smallest
fragment could be seen lying about.  What Ossaroo regretted most was,
that he had brought with him neither bow nor arrow nor spear, nor, in
short, any thing in the shape of a weapon.  Even his long knife he had
left behind, in order that he might carry the large joint with greater
ease.

On seeing the hated dogs, however, he could not resist the temptation of
having a shy at them; and, gathering up a handful of bulky stones, he
rushed into their midst, and pelted at them right and left.

The dogs, startled by this sudden onslaught, took to their heels, but
Ossaroo could not help observing that they did not appear to be so badly
frightened; and, some of them that left the ground sulky and growling,
stopped at no great distance from the spot, and appeared half inclined
to come back again!

It was the first time in his life that Ossaroo felt something like fear
of the wild dogs.  He had been in the habit of chasing them on sight,
and they had always scampered off at the sound of his voice.  These,
however, seemed to be larger and fiercer than any he had before
encountered, and it was evident there was fight in them.  It was nearly
dark, and at night such animals are much bolder than during the
daylight.  Night is, in fact, their true time for rapine and desperate
deeds.  Ossaroo reflected, moreover, that these dogs had, in all
probability, never before encountered man, and were, therefore, less
inclined to fear or flee from him.

It was not without some misgiving, therefore, that he found himself in
their presence, thus unarmed and alone.

When his armful of stones was exhausted, some of the dogs still remained
within sight, looking in the grey twilight much larger than they
actually were.

Ossaroo reflected for a moment whether he would gather some more rocks,
and give them a fresh pelting.  On second thoughts, he concluded it
would be more prudent to let them alone.  They were already almost at
bay, and any farther demonstration on his part might provoke them to
turn upon him in earnest.  He determined, therefore, to leave them as
they stood, and hurry off with his load.

Without more ado, he took down the quarter of yak-beef, and, placing it
upon his shoulders, turned homeward toward the hut.

He had not gone very far when he began to suspect that the dogs were
after him.  In fact, he more than suspected it, for the pattering of
feet upon the dead leaves, and an occasional low growl that reached his
ears, convinced him they _were_ after him.  The heavy burden upon his
shoulders, pressing his head forward and downward, prevented him from
seeing either to one side or the other, and to look behind, it would be
necessary for him to turn quite round.

But the pattering of the feet sounded nearer, and the short half-bark,
half-growl, became more frequent, until Ossaroo found himself at length
constrained to turn, from sheer apprehension of being attacked in the
rear.

The sight that met his eyes was enough to have terrified the stoutest
heart.  Instead of half a dozen of the wild dogs which he expected to
see following him, there were far above a score of them, and they
appealed to be of every age, sex, and size.  In fact, all the dogs of
the valley were trooping at his heels, as if they had been all summoned
to join in the attack.

But the stout shikarree was not yet dismayed.  He had been accustomed to
hold the wild dogs in too great contempt to be so easily frightened,
even by such numbers of them, and he resolved to make another attempt to
drive them off.

Leaning the beef, therefore, against a tree, he stooped down and groped
the ground, until he had again armed himself with pebbles as big as
paving-stones; and rushing some paces backward, he flung them with all
his might in the teeth of his tormentors.  Several of the pebbles
happened to hit in the right place, and more than one of the dogs ran
howling away; but the fiercer and older ones scarce yielded their
ground, and only answered the assault by a fierce grinning and
jabbering, while their white teeth could be distinguished under the
moonlight set in angry menace.

Upon the whole, Ossaroo gained but little by this new demonstration; and
as he reshouldered his load, he saw the dogs gathering thick as ever
behind him.

Perhaps he would not have taken up his burden again, but an idea had
suddenly entered his mind; he had conceived a plan of getting rid of his
ugly followers.

He knew that he was near the edge of the lake.  He remembered that
between him and the hut there lay a long reach of water, where the lake
ran up into a sort of branch or bay.  He knew that this bay, even at its
neck, was quite shallow and fordable.  He had, in fact, waded across it
that very day in order to shorten the path.  He was just then within a
hundred yards of the fording-place; and if the dogs contemplated
attacking him, he would be able to reach the water before they were
likely to begin their attack.  He would take to the water, and that
would throw them off.  With all their fierceness, they surely would not
follow him into it?

Acting under this impression, he reshouldered his load and hurried
forward.  He did not waste time to look about.  He need not have looked
around to convince himself that he was still followed, for the thick
pattering of the feet, the snarling, and chattering, were behind him as
before.  Every moment it sounded nearer and nearer, and at length when
Ossaroo arrived by the water's edge he fancied he could hear the
breathing of the brutes close to his very ankles.

He made no halt, but dashed at once into the lake, and plunged wildly
across.  The noise made by himself in wading knee-deep prevented him
from hearing other sounds; and he did not look to see whether he was
followed until he had climbed out on the opposite shore of the bay.
Then he paused and turned around.  To his chagrin the whole pack were in
the water, crossing like hounds after a stag!  Already they were half
over.  They had no doubt hesitated a moment before taking to the water,
and this gave Ossaroo some advantage, else they would have landed as
soon as he.  As it was, they would soon take up the distance.

Ossaroo hesitated a moment as to whether he should abandon his burden,
and retreat towards the hut; but the thought of yielding to a pack of
wild dogs was too much for his hunter pride; and, wheeling suddenly into
the path, he hurried onward with his load.  It was now but a short
distance to the hut.  He had still hopes that he might reach it before
his pursuers would make up their minds to assail him.

On he hastened, making his limbs do their best.  Once more came the
pattering feet; once more the growling, and yelping, and jibbering of
the wild dogs from behind; once more their hot breathing seemed to be
felt close to his heels; and then, all at once, the quarter of yak-beef
appeared to increase in weight, and grow heavier and heavier, until it
came suddenly to the ground, pulling Ossaroo upon his back.  Several of
the ravenous brutes had seized upon and dragged both burden and bearer
to the earth!

But Ossaroo soon recovered his feet; and, seizing a large pole, that
fortunately lay near, commenced laying around him right and left, at the
same time making the woods echo with his yells.

A terrible _melee_ ensued, the dogs showing fight, seizing the pole in
their teeth, and springing forward upon the hunter whenever an
opportunity offered.  The latter, however, handled his _improvised_
weapon so well, that for a long time he kept the whole pack at bay.

He was growing very tired, and no doubt in a few minutes more would have
been obliged to succumb, when he, as well as the joint of yak-beef,
would soon have disappeared from the world; but, before this terrible
event could happen, the large spotted body of Fritz was seen rushing
into the midst of the crowd.  Fritz was followed by his master, Karl,
armed with the double-barrelled gun, which soon opened fire, scattering
the wild pack like a flock of sheep, and laying out more than one of
their number at the feet of Ossaroo.

The scene was soon over after the arrival of Karl and Fritz, and Ossaroo
was delivered from his peril; but if ever a follower of Brahma swore
vengeance against any living creature, Ossaroo did that very thing
against the wild dogs.



CHAPTER FORTY ONE.

OSSAROO'S REVENGE.

So indignant was Ossaroo with these animals that he vowed he would not
lie down till he had taken wholesale revenge, and Karl and Caspar were
curious to know how he intended to take it.  They knew the dogs would be
like enough to come round the hut during the night.  Indeed, they heard
them yelping not far off at the moment; but for all that how were they
to be killed, for that was the sort of revenge the shikarree meditated
taking?  It would never do to expend powder and shot on such worthless
animals; besides firing at them in the darkness would be a very
uncertain mode of killing even a single one of them.

Did Ossaroo intend to sit up all night and shoot at them with his
arrows?  The chances were he should not hit one; and from the way
Ossaroo talked he had made up his mind to a whole hetacomb!  Certainly
he could not do it with his bow and arrows.  How then was he going to
take the wholesale vengeance he had rowed?

They knew of no sort of trap that could be arranged, whereby more than a
single dog might be captured; and it would take some time with such
weapons as they had to construct the rudest kind of trap.  True, there
was the "dead-fall" that might be rigged up in a few minutes from logs
that lay near; but that could only fall once, crushing one victim,
unless Ossaroo sat up to rearrange it.  Besides, the cunning dogs might
not go under it again, after one of their number had been immolated
before their eyes.

Karl and Caspar could not conceive what plan Ossaroo intended to pursue;
but from experience they knew he had some one; and therefore they asked
him no questions, but watched his proceedings in silence.

The first thing that Ossaroo did was to collect from the antelope all
the tendons or sinews that he could lay his fingers on.  Some, also, he
obtained from the barking-deer, which Caspar had killed in the morning;
and others he took from the limbs of the yaks that had been brought home
in their skins.  In a short while he had a goodly bunch of these tough
strings; which he first dried before the fire, and then twisted after
his own fashion into slender cords.  In all he made more than a score of
them--Karl and Caspar of course acting under his directions, and lending
him all necessary help during the operation.  These cords, neatly twined
and dried by the heat, now resembled strings of coarse catgut; and it
only remained for Ossaroo to knot and loop them, and form them into
snares.

Of course Karl and Caspar now knew what Ossaroo purposed--to snare the
dogs of course.  Yet how the snares were to be set, or how a wild dog
could be captured with a piece of catgut, was more than they could
comprehend.  Surely, thought they, the dogs will gnaw such a string to
pieces in half a minute, and set themselves free again?  So it would
have appeared, and so they would doubtless have done had the snares been
set for them in the ordinary manner.  But Ossaroo had a plan of his own
for setting snares, and it was by this plan he intended to succeed in
capturing the dogs.

The next thing Ossaroo did was to provide himself with an equal number
of stoutish thongs, which his knife and the numerous raw hides that lay
about soon enabled him to do.  When these were all prepared, about
twenty small skewer-like rods were obtained from the bushes and
sharpened at one end.  Then a like number of "griskins" were cut from
the antelope venison--it being esteemed of least value; and thus
provided, Ossaroo started forth to set his snares.

Karl and Caspar of course accompanied him, the latter limping on one
leg, and carrying a large pine-torch--for as the moon had gone down, and
it was now quite dark, they required a light to do the work.  Karl was
loaded with the thongs, skewers, and griskins, while Ossaroo himself was
in charge of the snares.

Now it so happened that not far from the hut, and all around it, there
grew numbers of low trees, with long branches that extended horizontally
outward.  They were a species of the _pyrus_, or mountain-ash, sometimes
known as "witch hazel."  The branches, though long, were thin, tough,
and elastic, and not much burdened with either branchlets or leaves.
They were the very things for Ossaroo's purpose, and he had observed
this before it had become quite dark, and while he was meditating upon
some plan to get square with the wild dogs.  Upon these branches he was
now to operate.

Reaching up he caught one of them in his hand, drew it downwards, and
then suddenly let it go again, in order to try the "spring" of it.  It
appeared to satisfy him; and, once more laying hold of it, he stripped
off its leaves and twigs, and then tied the rawhide thong to its upper
end.  To the other end of the string was next adjusted the skewer-like
rod, and this last was fastened in the ground in such a way as to hold
the branch bent downward with considerable force, while a very slight
jerk upon the pin itself would set the former free.  The shikarree now
arranged his piece of venison for a bait, fixing it so that it could not
possibly be dragged away or even slightly tugged without setting free
the rod-trigger, and consequently the bent branch.  Last of all, was
arranged the snare, and this was placed in such a position with regard
to the bait, that any animal attempting to seize the latter must
necessarily have the whole or part of its body encircled by the ready
running noose.

When all these matters were arranged to his satisfaction, Ossaroo
proceeded to another tree, and went through a similar process of
snare-setting; and then to another, and so on till the whole of his
snares were disposed of, when the party returned to the hut.

They sat for half-an-hour longer, listening in hopes that before
retiring they might enjoy the sport of seeing a wild dog snared.
Whether it was that the torch-light had frightened them off for a while,
or from some other cause, neither yelp, nor growl, nor noise of any
kind, gratified the ears of the listeners; so they gave it up, and,
shutting the rude door of the hut, one and all of them went soundly to
sleep.

The fact is, the day's work had been one of the hardest of their lives.
All were as tired as hod-carriers; and they were glad to stretch
themselves once more on the fragrant leaves of the rhododendrons.

Had they not slept so soundly, they might have heard a considerable
confusion of noises throughout the night.  What with barking and
growling, and yelping and howling, and snapping and snarling, and the
creaking of branches and the rattling of twigs, there was a constant
medley, that ought to have awakened the three sleepers long before
daylight.  It did awake them, however, at last; and as the light
streamed through the apertures of the hut, all three sprang to their
feet and rushed out into the open air.  It was still only grey light;
but as soon as they had rubbed their eyes clear of sleep, a sight was
before them that caused Karl and Caspar to break out into loud laughter,
while Ossaroo jumped about vociferating his delight in wild yells of
triumph.  Nearly every snare they had set had caught its victim--nearly
every tree around the hut carried a dog swinging to its branches--some
by the neck hanged quite dead--some round the body alive and
struggling--while there were others suspended by a single leg, their
snouts almost touching the earth, and their tongues hanging from their
frothy jaws!

It was the strangest of all scenes; and Ossaroo had, as he had vowed, a
full measure of vengeance--which he now carried to its completion, by
seizing his long spear, and putting an end to the struggles of the
hideous brutes.



CHAPTER FORTY TWO.

THE CREVASSE BRIDGED.

Young reader, I shall not weary you by relating every little
circumstance which occurred during the time that the bridge was being
constructed.  Suffice it to say, that all hands were busy,--both night
and day, I might almost say,--until it was finished.  Although they were
in no want of any thing, and might have lived their lives out in this
place, yet the thought that they were imprisoned--cut off from all
fellowship with mankind--weighed heavily upon their spirits, and not an
hour was wasted in idle amusement.  The whole of their time was given up
to that which engrossed all their thoughts--the construction of the
bridge--that link, which was wanting to unite them once more with the
world, and free them from their lonely captivity.

They were a whole month in getting their bridge ready; which, after all,
consisted only of a single pole of about six inches in diameter, and
better than a hundred feet in length.  It was nothing more than two
slender pine-trees spliced together by means of rawhide thongs.  But
then these trees had to be shaved down to a nearly uniform thickness,
and this had to be done with the small hatchet and knives; and the wood
had to be charred by fire until it was quite dry and light; and the
splicing had to be made with the greatest neatness and strength, so that
there would be no danger of its yielding under a weight; and, moreover,
a great many ropes had to be twisted, and many animals had to be
captured and killed, to obtain the materials for these ropes; and other
apparatus had to be made--so that the getting that bridge ready was a
good month's work for all hands.

At the end of a month it was ready; and now behold it in the gorge of
the glacier, and lying along the snowy surface of the ice, one end of it
within a few feet of the crevasse!  Thither they have transported it,
and are just preparing to put it in its place.

The first thought that will strike you, will be how that piece of timber
is to be placed across that yawning chasm.  It is quite long enough to
reach across--for they calculated that before making it--and there are
several feet to lap over at each end; but how on earth is it to be
extended across?  If any one of the party was upon the opposite side,
and had a rope attached to the end of the pole, then it would be easy
enough to manage it.  But as there could be nothing of this kind, how
did they intend acting?  It is evident they could not push it across
before them; the end of such a long pole would naturally sink below the
horizontal line before reaching the opposite side; and how was it to be
raised up?  In fact, as soon as they should push it a little more than
half its length outward, its own weight would overbalance their united
strength, and it would be likely to escape from their hands and drop to
the bottom of the cleft--whence, of course, they could not recover it.
This would be a sad result, after the trouble they had had in
constructing that well-balanced piece of timber.

Ah! they were not such simpletons as to have worked a whole month
without first having settled all these matters.  Karl was too good an
engineer to have gone on thus far, without a proper design of how his
bridge was to be thrown across.  If you look at the objects lying
around, you will perceive the evidence of that design.  You will
understand how the difficulty is to be got over.

You will see there a ladder nearly fifty feet in length--several days
were expended in the making of this; you will see a strong pulley, with
block-wheels and shears--this cost no little time in the construction;
and you will see several coils of stout rawhide rope.  No wonder a month
was expended in the preparation of the bridge!

And now to throw it across the chasm!  For that purpose they were upon
the ground, and all their apparatus with them.  Without farther delay
the work commenced.

The ladder was placed against the cliff, with its lower end resting upon
the glacier, and as close to the edge of the crevasse as was reckoned
safe.

We have said that the ladder was fifty feet in length; and consequently
it reached to a point on the face of the cliff nearly fifty feet above
the surface of the glacier.  At this height there chanced to be a slight
flaw in the rock--a sort of seam in the granite--where a hole could
easily be pierced with an iron instrument.

To make this hole a foot or more in depth was the work of an hour.  It
was done by means of the hatchet, and the iron point of Ossaroo's
boar-spear.

A strong wooden stake was next inserted into this hole, fitting it as
nearly as possible; but, in order to make it perfectly tight and firm,
hard wooden wedges were hammered in all around it.

When driven home, the end of this stake protruded a foot or more from
the wall of the cliff; and, by means of notches cut in the wood, and
rawhide thongs, the pulley was securely rigged on to it.

The pulley had been made with two wheels; each of them with axles strong
enough to bear the weight of several hundreds.  Both had been well
tested before this time.

Another stake was now inserted into the cliff, within a few feet of the
surface of the glacier.  This was simply to be used as a belaying-pin,
to which the ends of the pulley-ropes could be fastened at a moment's
notice.

The next operation was the reeving of the ropes over the wheels of the
pulley.  This was the work of but a few minutes, as the ropes had
already been carefully twisted, and had been made of just the thickness
to fit the grooves of the wheels.

The ropes--or cables, as the boys called them--were now attached at one
end to the great pole which was to form the bridge.  One to its end, and
the other to its middle, exactly around the place where it was joined.

The greatest pains was taken in adjusting these knots, particularly the
one in the middle; for the duty which this cable was called upon to
perform was, indeed, of a most important character.

It was to act as the main pier or support of the bridge--not only to
prevent the long pole from "swagging" downward, but in fact to keep it
from breaking altogether.  But for Karl's ingenuity in devising this
support, a slender pole, such as that they had prepared, would never
have sustained the weight of one of them; and had they made it of
heavier scantling, they could not have thrown it across the chasm.  The
centre support, therefore, was the chief object of their solicitude; and
this cable, as well as the pulley-wheel over which it passed, were made
much stronger than the other.  The second rope was intended to hold up
the end of the pole, so that, on approaching the opposite side of the
chasm, it could be kept high enough to be raised above the ice.

The ropes being now completely rigged, each man took his place.
Ossaroo, who was the strongest of the party, was to push the bridge
forward; while Karl and Caspar attended to the pulley and the ropes.
Rollers had already been laid under the poles; for, although but six
inches in diameter, its great length rendered it no easy matter to slide
it forward, even with the advantage of the slippery surface of frozen
snow.

The word was given by Karl, and the pole commenced moving.  Soon its end
passed over the brink of the chasm, close by the edge of the black rock.
Slowly and gradually it moved forward, and not one of them uttered a
word.  They were all too much absorbed in attending to their various
duties to speak a sentence.

Slowly and gradually it moved onward, creeping along the cliff, like
some huge monster, and protruding its muzzled snout far over the deep
chasm.

At length the nearest roller approached the brink, find it became
necessary to stop the motion till these could be rearranged.

This was easily done.  A few turns of the cables around the
belaying-pin, and all stood fast.  The pulley-wheels worked admirably,
and the cables glided smoothly over the grooved blocks.

The rollers were soon readjusted--the cables again freed from the pin,
and the bridge moved on.

Slowly and gradually--slowly but smoothly and surely, it moved, until
its farther end rested upon the opposite cheek of the crevasse, lapping
the hard ice by several feet.  Then the cables were held taut, and
securely fastened to the belaying-pin.  The nearer end of the pole was
tied with other ropes--so that it could not possibly shift from its
place--and the yawning abyss was now spanned by a bridge!

Not till then did the builders rest to look upon their work; and, as
they stood gazing upon the singular structure that was to restore them
to liberty and home, they could not restrain themselves, but gave vent
to their triumphant feelings in a loud huzzah!



CHAPTER FORTY THREE.

THE PASSAGE OF THE CREVASSE.

I know you are smiling at this very poor substitute for a bridge, and
wondering how they who built it were going to cross upon it.  Climbing a
Maypole would be nothing to such a feat.  It may seem easy enough to
cling to a pole six inches in diameter, and even to "swarm" along it for
some yards, but when you come to talk of a hundred feet of such
progression, and that over a yawning chasm, the very sight of which is
enough to make the head giddy and the heart faint, then the thing
becomes a feat indeed.  Had there been no other mode of getting over,
like enough our heroes would have endeavoured to cross in that way.

Ossaroo, who had "swarmed" up the stem of many a bamboo and tall
palm-tree, would have thought nothing of it; but for Karl and Caspar,
who were not such climbers, it would have been rather perilous.  They
had, therefore, designed a safer plan.

Each was provided with a sort of yoke, formed out of a tough sapling
that had been sweated in the fire and then bent into a triangular shape.
It was a rude isosceles triangle, tied tightly at the apex with rawhide
thongs; and thereto was attached a piece of well-twisted rope, the
object of which was to form a knot or loop over the pole, to act as a
runner.  The feet of the passenger were to rest on the base of the yoke,
which would serve as a stirrup to support the body, while one arm would
hug the pole, leaving the other free to push forward the runner by short
gradations.  In this way each was to work himself across.  Their guns,
and the few other things, were to be tightly strapped to their backs.
They had only those that were worth bringing along.  As for Fritz, he
was not to be left behind, although the transporting him across had
offered for some time a serious difficulty.  Ossaroo, however, had
removed the difficulty by proposing to tie the dog up in a skin and
strap him on his (Ossaroo's) own back, and thus carry him over.  It
would be nothing to Ossaroo.

In less than half-an-hour after the bridge was in its place, the three
were ready to cross.  There they stood, each holding the odd-looking
stirrup in his hand, with his _impedimenta_ strapped securely on his
back.  The head of Fritz, just showing above the shoulder of the
shikarree, while his body was shrouded in a piece of shaggy yak-skin,
presented a very ludicrous spectacle, and his countenance wore quite a
serio-comical expression.  He seemed quite puzzled as to what was going
to be done with him.

Ossaroo proposed crossing first; and then Caspar, brave as a lion, said
that he was the _lightest_, and _ought_ to go _first_.  Karl would not
listen to either of them, Karl alleged that, as he was the builder of
the bridge, by all usage it was his place to make trial of it.  Karl
being the Sahib of the party, and, of course, the man of most authority,
carried his point.

Stepping cautiously to the point where the pole rested on the ice, he
looped the rawhide rope over it, and then suffered the yoke to drop
down.  He then grasped the pole tightly in his arms, and placed his feet
firmly in the stirrup.  For a moment or two, he pressed heavily upon the
latter, so as to test its strength, while he held on by the beam above;
and then, disengaging his left arm, he pushed the runner forward upon
the pole, to the distance of a foot or more.  This, of course, carried
the stirrup along with it, as well as his feet; and then, throwing
forward the upper part of his body, he swung himself out above the
abyss.

It was a fearful sight, even to those who watched him, and would have
been too perilous a feat for idle play; but the very nature of their
circumstances had hardened them to undergo the danger.

After a time, Karl was far out from the ice, and seemed to hang upon a
thread between heaven and earth!

Had the pole slipped at either end, it would have precipitated the
adventurous Karl into the chasm; but they had taken every precaution
against this.  At the nearer end, they had rendered it secure by rolling
immense rocks upon it; while, on the opposite side, it was held in its
place by the cable, that had been drawn as tight as the pulley could
make it.

Notwithstanding the mainstay in the middle, it sank considerably under
the weight of Karl's body; and it was plain that, but for this
contrivance, they could never have crossed.  When half-way to the point
where this stay was attached, the pole bent far below the level of the
glacier, and Karl now found it up-hill work to force the runner along.
He succeeded, however, in reaching the stay-rope in safety.

Now he had arrived at one of the "knottiest" points of the whole
performance.  Of course, the runner could go no farther, as it was
intercepted by the stay.  It was necessary, therefore, to detach it
altogether from the pole, and then readjust it on the other side of the
cable.

Karl had not come thus far to be stopped by a difficulty of so trifling
a kind.  He had already considered how he should act at this crisis, and
he delayed only a moment to rest himself.  Aided by the mainstay itself,
which served him for a hand-rope, he mounted cross-legs upon the timber,
and then, without much trouble, shifted his runner to the opposite side.
This done, he once more "sprang to his stirrup," and continued onward.

As he approached the opposite edge of the chasm, he again encountered
the up-hill difficulty; but a little patience and some extra exertion
brought him nearer and nearer, and still nearer, until at last his feet
kicked against the icy wall.

With a slight effort, he drew himself upon the glacier; and, stepping a
pace from the brink, he pulled off his cap, and waved it in the air.  A
huzza from the opposite side answered his own shout of triumph.  But
louder still was the cheer, and far more heartfelt and joyous, when,
half-an-hour afterwards, all three stood side by side, and, safe over,
looked back upon the yawning gulf they had crossed!

Only they who have escaped from some terrible doom--a dungeon, or death
itself--can understand the full, deep emotions of joy, that at that
moment thrilled within the hearts of Karl, Caspar, and Ossaroo.

Alas! alas! it was a short-lived joy,--a moment of happiness to be
succeeded by the most poignant misery,--a gleam of light followed by the
darkest of clouds!

Ten minutes had scarce elapsed.  They had freed Fritz from his yak-skin
envelope, and had started down the glacier, impatient to get out of that
gloomy defile.  Scarce five hundred steps had they taken, when a sight
came under their eyes that caused them suddenly to hall, and turn to
each other with blanched cheeks and looks of dread import.  Not one of
them spoke a word, but all stood pointing significantly down the ravine.
Words were not needed.  The thing spoke for itself.

Another crevasse, far wider than the one they had just crossed, yawned
before them!  It stretched from side to side of the icy mass; like the
former, impinging on either cliff.  It was full two hundred feet in
width, and how deep.  Ugh! they dared hardly look into its awful chasm!
It was clearly impassable.  Even the dog appeared to be aware of this;
for he had stopped upon its edge, and stood in an attitude of fear, now
and then uttering a melancholy howl!

Yes, it was impassable.  A glance was sufficient to tell that; but they
were not satisfied with a glance.  They stood upon its brink, and
regarded it for a long while, and with many a wistful gaze; then, with
slow steps and heavy hearts, they turned mechanically away.

I shall not repeat their mournful conversation.  I shall not detail the
incidents of their backward journey to the valley.  I need not describe
the recrossing of the crevasse--the different feelings with which they
now accomplished this perilous feat.  All these may be easily imagined.

It was near night when, wearied in body and limb--downcast in mien and
sick at heart--they reached the hut, and flung themselves despairingly
upon the floor.

"My God! my God!" exclaimed Karl, in the agony of his soul, "how long is
this hovel to be our home?"



CHAPTER FORTY FOUR.

NEW HOPES.

That night was passed without much sleep.  Painful reflections filled
the minds of all and kept them awake--the thoughts that follow
disappointed hopes.  When they did sleep it was more painful than
waking.  Their dreams were fearful.  They dreamt of yawning gulfs and
steep precipices--of being suspended in the air, and every moment about
to fall into vast depths where they would be crushed to atoms.  Their
dreams, that were only distorted pictures of the day's experience, had
all the vividness of reality, and far more vivid in their horror.  Often
when one or other of them was awakened by the approaching climax of the
dream, he endeavoured to keep awake rather than go through even in a
vision such horrible scenes.

Even the dog Fritz was not free from similar sufferings.  His mournful
whimpering told that his sleep like theirs was troubled and uneasy.

A bright sunshiny morning had its beneficial effect upon all of them.
It aided the reaction--consequent on a night of such a dismal
character--and as they ate their breakfasts of broiled meat they were
again almost cheerful.  The buoyancy of Caspar's spirits had well-nigh
returned, and his fine appetite showed itself in full vigour.  Indeed
all of them ate heartily, for on the preceding day they had scarce
allowed themselves time to taste food.

"If we must remain here always," said Caspar, "I see no reason why we
need starve ourselves!  There's plenty to eat, and a variety of it, I
can say.  I don't see why we shouldn't have some fish.  I am sure I have
seen trout leap in the lake.  Let us try a fly to-day.  What say you,
Karl?"

Caspar said this with the intention of cheering his brother.

"I see no harm in it," answered the quiet botanist.  "I think there are
fish in the lake.  I have heard there is a very eatable kind of fish in
all the rivers of the Himalayas, known as the `Himalayan trout'--though
it is misnamed, for it is not a trout but a species of carp.  It may be
found here, I dare say; although it is difficult, to imagine how fish
could get into this sequestered lake."

"Well," rejoined Caspar, "we must think of some plan to get them out of
it.  We have neither nets, rods, hooks, nor lines.  What's to be done?
Can you think of any way of taking the fish, Ossaroo?"

"Ah!  Sahib," replied the shikarree, "give me bamboo, me soon make net
to takee fish--no bamboo--no net--no matter for net--Ossaroo poison the
water--get all da fish."

"What! poison the water? how would you do that?  Where is the poison?"

"Me soon find poison--bikh poison do."

"`Bikh' poison--what is that?"

"Come, Sahib! me show you bikh plant--plenty grow here."

Both Karl and Caspar rose and followed the shikarree.

They had not gone many paces when their guide stooped and pointed to a
plant that grew in plenty about the place.  It was an herbaceous plant,
having a stem nearly six feet high, and rather broad digitate leaves,
with a loose spike of showy yellow flowers at the top.

Caspar rather hastily took hold of one of the plants; and, plucking off
the spike, held it to his nose, to see whether the flowers had any
perfume.  But Caspar dropped the nosegay as hastily as he had seized it,
and with an exclamation of terror turned towards his brother, into whose
arms he staggered half swooning!  Fortunately he had taken but a very
slight "sniff" of that dangerous perfume, else he might have been laid
up for days.  As it was he felt giddy for hours after.

Now this singular plant the botanist Karl recognised at a glance.  It
was a species of aconite, or wolf's-bane, and _very_ similar to the
kindred species, _Aconitum napellus_, or "monk's hood," of Europe, whose
roots furnish the most potent of poisons.

The whole plant--leaves, flowers, and stem--is of a poisonous nature,
but the roots, which resemble small turnips, contain the essence of the
poison.  There are many species of the plant found in different parts of
the world, and nearly a dozen kinds in the Himalaya Mountains
themselves; but the one pointed out by Ossaroo was the _Aconitum ferox_
of botanists, the species from which the celebrated "bikh" poison of the
Hindoos is obtained.

Ossaroo then proposed to poison the fish by throwing a sufficient
quantity of the roots and stems of the plant into the lake.

This proposal, however, was rejected by Karl, who very properly
observed, that although by that means they might obtain a plentiful
supply of fish, they would destroy more than they could use at the time,
and perhaps leave none for the future.  Karl had already begun to talk
about a "future" to be spent on the shores of this lovely lake.  The
belief that they might never go out of the valley was already taking
shape in the minds of all three, though they did not care to give
expression to such sad imaginings.

Karl tried to be cheerful, as he saw that Caspar was gay.

"Come," said he, "let us not mind the fish to-day.  I own that fish is
usually the first course, but go along with me.  Let us see what kind of
vegetables our garden has got.  I am sure we may live better if we only
try.  For my part I am getting tired of broiled meat, and neither bread
nor vegetables to eat along with it.  Here I dare say we shall find
both; for whether it be due to the birds, or its peculiar climate--or a
little to both most likely--our valley has a flora such as you can only
meet with in a botanic garden.  Come then! let us see what we can find
for the pot."

So saying Karl led the way, followed by Caspar, Ossaroo, and the
faithful Fritz.

"Look up there!" said the botanist, pointing to a tall pine that grew
near.  "See those large cones.  Inside them we shall obtain seeds, as
large as pistachio-nuts, and very good to eat.  By roasting them, we can
make an excellent substitute for bread."

"Ha, indeed!" exclaimed Caspar, "that is a pine-tree.  What large cones!
They are as big as artichokes.  What sort of pine is it, brother?"

"It is one of the kind known as the `edible pines,' because their seeds
are fit for food.  It is the species called by botanists _Pinus
Gerardiana_, or the `neosa' pine.  There are pines whose seeds are
eatable in other parts of the world, as well as in the Himalaya
Mountains,--for instance, the _Pinus cembra_ of Europe, the `ghik' of
Japan, the `Lambert' pine of California, and several species in New
Mexico, known among the people as `pinon' trees.  So you perceive that
besides their valuable timber--to say nothing of their pitch,
turpentine, and resin--the family of the pines also furnishes food to
the human race.  We shall get some bread from those cones whenever we
desire it!"

So saying, Karl continued on in the direction of the lake.

"There again!" said he, pointing to a gigantic herbaceous plant,
"rhubarb, you see!"

It was, in fact, the true rhubarb, which grows wild among the Himalaya
Mountains, and whose great broad red-edged leaves, contrasting with its
tall pyramid of yellow bracts, render it one of the most striking and
beautiful of herbaceous plants.  Its large acid stems--which are hollow
and full of pure water--are eaten by the natives of the Himalayas, both
raw and boiled, and its leaves when dried are smoked as tobacco.  But
there was a smaller species that grew near, which Ossaroo said produced
much better tobacco; and Ossaroo was good authority, since he had
already dried some of the leaves, and had been smoking them ever since
their arrival in the valley.  In fact, Ossaroo was quite out of
betel-nut, and suffered so much from the want of his favourite
stimulant, that he was glad to get any thing to smoke; and the "chula,"
or wild rhubarb-leaves, answered his purpose well.  Ossaroo's pipe was
an original one certainty; and he could construct one in a few minutes.
His plan was to thrust a piece of stick into the ground, passing it
underneath the surface--horizontally for a few inches, and then out
again--so as to form a double orifice to the hole.  At one end of this
channel he would insert a small joint of reed for his mouth-piece, while
the other was filled with the rhubarb tobacco, which was then set on
fire.  It was literally turning the earth into a tobacco-pipe!

This method of smoking is by no means uncommon among the half-civilised
inhabitants of India as well as Africa, and Ossaroo preferred a pipe of
this kind to any other.

Karl continued onward, pointing out to his companions several species of
edible roots, fruits, and vegetables which the valley contained.  There
were wild leeks among the number.  These would assist them in making
soup.  There were fruits too,--several species of currants, and
cherries, and strawberries, and raspberries,--kinds that had long been
introduced to European gardens, and that to Karl and Caspar looked like
old acquaintances.

"And there!" continued Karl, "see the very water produces food for us.
Look at the lotus, (_Nelumbium speciosum_).  Those large pink and white
flowers are the flowers of the famed lotus.  Its stalks may be eaten,
or, if you will, their hollow tubes will serve us as cups to drink, out
of.  There, too, is the horned water root (_Trapa bicornis_), also
excellent eating.  Oh! we should be thankful.  We are well provided with
food."

Yet the heart of Karl was sore while thus endeavouring to talk
cheerfully.



CHAPTER FORTY FIVE.

NEW SURVEY OF THE CLIFF.

Yes, the hearts of all three were far from being contented, though they
returned to the hut laden with fruits, and roots, and nuts, and
vegetables; out of which they intended to concoct a better dinner than
they had been lately accustomed to.

The rest of that day was spent about the hut, and a good deal of it was
given up to culinary operations.  Not that any of the party cared so
much for a good dinner; but being thus engaged prevented them from
reflecting as much as they would otherwise have done upon their painful
situation.  Besides, they had no other work to do.  They had no longer a
motive for doing any thing.  Up to that moment the preparing the ropes
and timbers of the bridge had kept them employed; and the very work
itself, combined with the hope which they then felt, enabled them to
pass the time pleasantly enough.  Now that these hopes were no more,--
that their whole scheme had ended in failure, they felt restless,--and
could think of nothing upon which to employ themselves.  Preparing their
dinner, therefore, out of the new and varied materials that had come
into their hands, was, at least, some distraction to their gloomy
thoughts.

When dinner was ready, all of them ate heartily, and with a relish.
Indeed, they had been so long without vegetables that these tasted to
them as fine as any they had ever eaten.  Even the wild fruits appeared
equal to the best they had ever gathered from an orchard!

It was a little after midday, as they were enjoying this dessert.  They
were seated in the open air, in front of the hut, and Caspar was doing
most part of the talking, he was doing his best to be cheerful, and to
make his companions so as well.

"They're the best strawberries I've eaten for a month," said he; "but I
think a trifle of sugar and a drop of cream would be an improvement.
What say you, Karl?"

"It would," he replied, nodding assent.

"We did wrong to kill all our cows," continued Caspar, with a
significant look at one of the yak-skins that lay near.

"By-the-bye," said Karl, interrupting him, "I was just thinking of that.
If we are to stay here all our lives,--oh!"

The painful reflection, again crossing Karl's mind, caused him to
exclaim as he did.  He left his hypothetic sentence unfinished, and
relapsed into silence.

Several days after this Karl left the hut, and, without telling his
intention to either of his companions, walked off in the direction of
the cliffs.  Indeed, he had no very definite nor determined aim in so
doing; a sort of hopeless idea had come into his mind of making the
circuit of the valley, and once more surveying the precipice all round
it.

Neither of the others offered to accompany him, nor did they question
him as to his object in setting out.  Both had gone about business of
their own.  Caspar had become engaged in making a wash-rod for his gun,
and Ossaroo a net to catch the large and beautiful fish that abounded in
the lake.  Karl, therefore, was permitted to set forth alone.

On reaching the precipice, he turned along its base, and walked slowly
forward, stopping every yard or two, and looking upward.  Every foot--
nay, I might say every inch, of the cliff did he scan with care,--even
with more care than he had hitherto done; though that would appear
hardly possible, for on the former occasions on which the three had
examined it, their reconnoissance had been most particular and _minute_.

But a new idea had shadowed itself in the mind of Karl; and it was in
obedience to this, that he now proceeded with a fresh examination of the
precipitous enclosure that imprisoned them.  It is true it was but a
sort of forlorn hope that he had conceived; but a forlorn hope was
better than no hope at all, and therefore Karl was determined to be
satisfied.

The thought that had been forming in his mind was, that after all it
might be possible for them to _scale the cliff_.  That they could not do
so by climbing he was already satisfied; as were all three.  Of this
their former examinations had convinced them.  But there were other ways
of getting up a precipice, besides merely climbing with one's hands and
feet; and one of these ways, as already said, had for some time been
shadowing itself in the mind of Karl.

What plan, you will ask, had he now conceived?  Did he design to make
use of ropes?

Not at all.  Ropes could be of no service to him in going up a cliff.
They might, had they been fastened at the top; for then both he and his
companions would soon have contrived some way of getting up the ropes.
They could have made a ladder of a single rope by which they might have
ascended, by simply knotting pieces of sticks at short intervals, to
serve as rests for their feet, and they knew this well.  Such a
contrivance would have suited admirably, if they had been required to
_descend_ a precipice, for then they could have let the rope down, and
fastened it at the top themselves.  But to go up was altogether a
different operation; and it was necessary for at least one to be above
to render it at all practicable or possible.  Of course, if one could
have got to the top by any means, the others could have done so by the
same; and then the rope-ladder would not have been needed at all.

No.  Such a contrivance could not be used, and indeed they had never
thought of it--since to the meanest comprehension it was plainly
impossible.  Karl therefore was not thinking of a rope-ladder.

Nevertheless it was actually about a _ladder_ that he was thinking--not
made of ropes, but of timber--of sides and rounds like any other ladder.

"What!" you will exclaim, "a ladder by which to scale the cliff!  Why,
you have told us that it was three hundred feet in sheer height?  The
longest ladder in the world would not reach a third of the way up such a
precipice.  Even a fireman's ladder, that is made to reach to the tops
of the highest houses, would be of no use for such a height as that?"

"Quite true!  I know all that as well as you," would have been Karl's
reply to your objections.

"What, then, Master Karl?  Do you design to make a ladder that will be
taller than all we have ever seen--tall enough to reach to the top of a
precipice three hundred feet high?  We know you have both energy and
perseverance; and, after witnessing the way that you worked at the
building of your bridge, and the skill with which you built it, we are
ready to believe that you can accomplish a very great feat in the
joiner's line; but that _you_ can make a ladder three hundred feet in
length, we are not prepared to believe--not if you had a whole chest of
tools and the best timber in the world.  We know you might put a ladder
together ever so long, but would it hold together? or even if it did,
how could you set it up against the cliff?  Never.  Three of the
strongest men could not do it,--nor six neither,--nor a dozen, without
machinery to assist them; therefore scaling the cliff by means of a
wooden ladder is plainly impracticable; and if that be your idea, you
may as well abandon it."

"Quite true, I know all this as well as you," would have been Karl's
reply; "but I had no idea of being able to scale the cliff by means of a
ladder.  It was not of _a ladder_, but of _ladders_, I was thinking."

"Ha! there may be something in that."

Karl knew well enough that no single ladder could be made of sufficient
length and strength to have reached from the bottom to the top of that
great wall; or if such could be constructed, he knew equally well that
it would be impossible to set it up.

But the idea that had been forming in his mind was, that several ladders
might effect the purpose--one placed above another, and each one resting
upon a _ledge of the cliff_, to which the one next below should enable
them to ascend.

In this idea there was really some shadow of practicability, though, as
I have said, it was but a very forlorn hope.  The amount of its
practicableness depended upon the existence of the _ledges_; and it was
to ascertain this that Karl had set forth.

If such ledges could be found, the hope would no longer have been
forlorn.  Karl believed that with time and energy the ladders might be
constructed, notwithstanding the poor stock of carpenter's tools at
their service; though he had scarce yet thought of how the holes were to
be made to receive the rounds, or how the ladders themselves might be
set upon the ledges, or any other detail of the plan.  He was too eager
to be satisfied about the first and most important point--whether there
were ledges that would answer the purpose?

With his eyes, therefore, keenly scanning the face of the cliff, he kept
on along its base, walking slowly, and in silence.



CHAPTER FORTY SIX.

KARL CLIMBS THE LEDGE.

He continued on until he had reached that end of the valley most remote
from the hut, and along the whole of the cliffs that he passed his
reconnoissance had been fruitless.  He saw many ledges, and some of
considerable width--quite wide enough to rest a ladder upon, and also
allow it a proper lean to the wall.  Some were higher and some lower;
but unfortunately they were not above one another, as Karl desired to
find them.  On the contrary, they were far apart--so that if one of them
could have been reached by means of a ladder, as many of them might,
this would in no way facilitate communication with the one that was
higher up.

Of course then, for Karl's purpose, these ledges were of no avail; and,
after observing their relative situations, he passed on with looks of
disappointment.  At the farthest end of the valley--that is, the place
farthest from the hut--there was a little bay, or indentation, in the
cliffs.  As already stated, there were several of these at intervals
around the valley, but the one in question was the largest of any.  It
was very narrow, only a few yards in width, and about a hundred in
depth--that is, a hundred yards from the line, which indicated the
general outline of the valley, to the apex of the angle where the
indentation ended.  Its bottom was nearly upon the same level with that
of the valley itself, though it was raised a little higher in some
places by loose rocks, and other _debris_ that had fallen from the
impending cliffs.

Karl had entered this bay, and was regarding its cliffs all around with
intense eagerness of glance.  Any one who could have seen him at that
moment would have observed that his countenance was brightening as he
gazed; and that pleasant thoughts were springing up within his bosom.
Any one who had seen that face but the moment before, and had looked
upon it now, could not fail to have noticed the change that had so
suddenly come over it--a perfect contrast in its expression.  What had
produced this metamorphosis?  Something of importance, I warrant; for
the young botanist, naturally of a sober turn, but now more than ever
so, was not given to sudden transitions of feeling.  What, then, was the
cause of his joy?

A glance at the cliff will answer these interrogatories.

At the first glance it might be noted that that part of the precipice
surrounding the bay--or ravine, as it might more properly be called--was
lower than elsewhere,--perhaps not quite three hundred feet in height.
It was not this peculiarity, however, at which Karl was rejoicing.  A
ladder of three hundred feet was not to be thought of any more than one
of three thousand.  It was that he had just observed upon the face of
the cliff a series of ledges that rose, shelf-like, one above the other.
The rock had a seamed or stratified appearance, although it was a
species of granite; but the strata were not by any means regular, and
the ledges were at unequal distances from each other.  Some, too, were
broader than the rest, and some appeared very narrow indeed; but many of
them were evidently of sufficient width to form the stepping-place for a
ladder.  The lower ones especially appeared as though they might easily
be scaled by a series of ladders, each from twenty to thirty feet
long,--but with regard to those near the top, Karl had great doubts.
The shelves did not seem more distant from each other than those below,
but their horizontal breadth appeared less.  This might possibly be an
optical delusion, caused by the greater distance from which they were
viewed; but if so, it would not much mend the matter for the design
which Karl had in view--since the deception that would have given him an
advantage in the breadth would have been against him in the height,
making the latter too great, perhaps, for any ladder that could be got
up.

If you have ever stood by the bottom of a great precipice, you may have
noticed how difficult it is to judge of the dimensions of an object far
up its face.  A ledge several feet in width will appear as a mere seam
in the rock, and a bird or other creature that may be seen upon it,
will, to the eyes of the beholder, be reduced far below its real bulk.
Karl was philosopher enough to understand these things, he had studied
in an elementary way, the laws of optics, and therefore was not going to
come to conclusions too hastily.

In order the better to form judgment about the breadth of the ledges,
and the height of the respective intervals between them, he stepped back
as far as the ground would permit him.

Unfortunately this was not far, for the cliff on the other side, as
already stated, was but a few paces distant.  Consequently he was soon
stopped by the rocks, and his situation for viewing the upper portion of
the cliff was anything but an advantageous one.

He scrambled up one of the highest boulders, and took his survey from
its top, but he was still not satisfied with his "point of view."  He
saw, however, that it was the best he could obtain; and he remained for
a good while upon his perch--with eyes bent upon the opposing precipice,
now fixed upon a particular spot, and now wandering in one long sweep
from bottom to top, and back again from top to bottom.

During this operation the expression upon his face once more changed to
one of deep gloom, for he had discovered an obstacle to his designs that
appeared insurmountable.  One of the spaces between two of the ledges
was too great to be spanned by a ladder, and this, too, was high up the
cliff.  It could never be scaled!

He noticed that the first ledge from the bottom was about half as high
from the ground as this one was from that immediately below it.

Hitherto he had been but guessing at the height; but it now occurred to
him that he should throw conjecture aside, and ascertain by actual
measurement the distance from the ground to the first ledge.  This might
be easily accomplished--Karl saw that,--and once done, it would give him
a better idea of the distance between the ledges high up.

It has been stated that the measurement could be easily made, and that
Karl knew this; but how?  The ledge appeared to be full forty feet from
the ground, and how was it to be reached by a measuring rule?  But Karl
had no measuring rule; and it was not in that way he intended to go
about it.

You will be conjecturing that he looked out for a tall sapling, of
sufficient length to reach the ledge, and then afterwards ascertained
the number of feet and inches of the sapling.  Certainly this mode would
have done well enough, and Karl would very likely have made use of it,
had not an easier offered itself--or one that at the moment appeared
readier to him.  He could have told the height by triangulation, but
that would also have involved the procuring of a sapling--and some
tedious calculation besides, which would have required time, with not
the most certain results either.

Both these plans had occupied his thoughts for a while.  The first was
rejected on account of the difficulty of obtaining a rod of sufficient
length,--the second was set aside by Karl just then perceiving that
without much difficulty, he might climb up to the ledge itself.  There
was a portion of the rock below with a slanting face, and here and there
some broken hollows and jutting points that would serve him as
foot-holds.

Once upon the ledge, the measurement would be simple enough.  It would
be only to let down a string with a small stone at the end, like a
plumber's line; and then mark how much string it required to reach the
ground.

He chanced to have about him a longish piece of rawhide thong, that
would serve admirably, and to carry out his purpose, he at once
determined upon ascending to the ledge.

Drawing the thong from his pocket, and attaching to one end of it the
piece of stone, he approached the cliff, and commenced scrambling
upward.

He found it a more difficult task than it had appeared, and it was just
as much as he could do to reach the ledge in safety.  Had it been
Caspar, the climbing would have been a mere bagatelle, used, as the
young hunter had been, to the precipices of the Alps while following the
rock-loving chamois.

But Karl was no great hand at such gymnastic exercises; and he was all
out of breath, and a little bit frightened at his rashness, before he
had placed himself safely on the shelf.

Stepping along it, therefore, till he reached a point where the cliff
below was vertical, he dropped his stone and line, and soon completed
his measurement.  Alas! it proved to be far higher than he had
conjectured in viewing it from below.  His spirits fell as he
contemplated the result.  He was now certain that the space higher up
could not be spanned by any ladder they might be able to construct.

With sad heart, he returned to the place where he had made the ascent,
intending to go down again.  But it is sometimes easier to say go down
than to do it; and to Karl's great consternation he saw at the first
glance that he could no more go down than fly upward into the air.
Beyond a doubt he was in a fix; regularly "nailed" upon the cliff.



CHAPTER FORTY SEVEN.

KARL IN A FIX.

It is not difficult to comprehend the reason.  Any one who has ever
climbed up a steep ascent,--such as a piece of wall, the mast of a ship,
or even an ordinary ladder,--will have noticed that the going up, is
much easier than the getting down again; and where the ascent is very
steep and difficult, it is quite possible that a person may make their
way to the top, without being able to get back to the bottom.  The
difficulty of descending is much greater than that of ascending.  In the
latter, you can see where you are to set your feet, and also what you
are to take hold of with your hands; whereas, in the former you have not
this advantage; but must grope your way downward, and are therefore
continually exposed to the danger of missing your footing, and being
precipitated to the bottom.

This was just the situation in which the plant-hunter found himself.  It
was as much as he had been able to pull himself up; it was more than he
could do to let himself down again; this he perceived at a single
glance.

It is true that the rock slanted a little, and he had clearly seen this
from below.  Now that he looked at it from above, he could scarcely
perceive any slant.  It appeared almost vertical, and it was full forty
feet to the bottom; a fearful height when viewed from above; he wondered
how he had been able to climb up at all, and he was now vexed with
himself for having been so rash and foolish.

But he could not stay there all night.  Something must be done, to free
him from his unpleasant situation; and, gathering resolution, he made an
attempt to descend.

He knelt down upon the ledge, with his face turned toward the cliff and
his back outwards.  Then, grasping the rock, in his hands, he allowed
his feet to slip over.  He succeeded in finding the uppermost steps, but
then came the difficulty.  He dared not let go with his hands, so as to
get another step downward; and, on lowering his feet to feel for a fresh
foothold, he could not discover any.  Repeatedly he ran his toes over
the face of the rock, groping for a notch or jutting point, but he could
find nothing upon which to rest either foot, and he was at length
obliged to draw them up, and place himself back upon the ledge.

He now bethought him that there might be a better place for making the
descent; and, rising to his feet, he proceeded to search for it.  He had
no difficulty in passing along the ledge; it was several feet in width,
and he could walk erect upon it without danger.  It extended for nearly
fifty yards along the face of the cliff, and was of nearly equal breadth
all the way.

Karl proceeded along it from one end to the other, at every step or two
stopping and looking downward.

But his examination ended in disappointment.  There was no path leading
from it, at all practicable for any other creature than a cat, or some
other animal with crooked claws,--at all events, there was no place
where Karl himself could get down,--and he turned to go back to the
point where he had ascended, with a feeling of apprehension that he was
not going to get down at all!

On proceeding along the ledge, he had not yet bent his eyes upon the
cliff that rose behind,--his attention being altogether occupied with
the part that lay below; on going back, however, his eye ranged more
freely, and he now noticed a dark hole in the rock, a few feet above the
level of the ledge.  This hole was about as big as an ordinary doorway,
and upon closer examination, Karl perceived that it was the mouth of a
cave.  He noticed, moreover, that it appeared to grow wider beyond the
entrance, and was no doubt a cavern of large dimensions.  He had no
further curiosity in relation to it; only that the reflection crossed
his mind that he might be compelled to pass the night there.  This was
probable enough; unless, indeed, Ossaroo or Caspar should come in search
of him before nightfall, and relieve him from his elevated prison.  But
it was just as likely they might not; for frequently one of the party
was out for hours together, without causing any uneasiness to the rest,
and it would be after night before they would feel any apprehension
about his absence.  In the darkness, too, they might go in the wrong
direction to search for him, and might wander about through the woods a
long time before coming near the place where he was.  He was in the very
farthest corner of the valley, and shut up in the ravine, with rocks and
high woods between him and them; and thus his shouts could not be heard
at any great distance.

These were the reflections that passed through his mind, as he returned
along the ledge to the point where he had climbed up.  He did not enter
the cave to examine it--as he would certainly have done under other
circumstances--but his curiosity was now controlled by the apprehension
he very naturally felt in the dilemma in which he was placed.

That he could do nothing to free himself from it was clear enough to his
mind.  He must wait, therefore, until either Caspar came, or Ossaroo, or
both; and, summoning all his patience, he sat down upon the ledge and
waited.

Of course, he did not wait in silence.  He had the sense to know, that
if he kept silent they might not find him at all; and therefore, at
short intervals, he rose to his feet, and shouted at the top of his
voice, causing the cliffs to reverberate in numberless echoes.

The echoes, however, were the only replies he received.  Loud as were
his cries, they were not heard either by Caspar or Ossaroo.



CHAPTER FORTY EIGHT.

THE TIBET BEAR.

For full two hours sat Karl, chewing the cud of impatience.  As yet the
feeling he experienced was only one of impatience, mingled with a
considerable amount of chagrin at being in such a scrape, and having got
himself into it in so simple a manner.  He had no very painful
apprehensions about the result--since he made quite sure that his
companions would come to his relief in the end.  They might not find him
that day, or that night, and he might have to remain all night upon the
ledge.  This, however, would be no great hardship.  He might suffer a
little from want of his supper, and he might have to sleep in the cave,
but what of that to one so inured to hunger, and to sleeping in the open
air, as he was?  Even had there been no shelter, he could have stretched
himself along the ledge, and slept that way without much minding it.
Certainly in the morning the others would be after him, his shouts would
guide them to the spot, and then it would be all right again.

Such was the reasoning of Karl, and therefore, knowing that he had but
little to fear, he was not acutely anxious.

While he was thus comfortably communing with himself, however, his eyes
rested upon an object that rendered him anxious enough--nay, more than
anxious--badly frightened, would be nearer the words.

His ears first guided him to this new cause of alarm.  While sitting on
the ledge, and not saying a word, he heard a sound that resembled the
snort of a jackass, just as one commences to bray.

There were some bushes growing at no great distance from the bottom of
the cliff, and it was from the midst of these bushes the sound appeared
to proceed.

After hearing the snort, Karl kept both eyes and ears acutely bent--the
former fixed upon the bushes; and in a minute after, the sound was
repeated, though he did not see the creature that uttered it.  He saw,
however, by the motion of the twigs, that something was passing through
the thicket; and the loud snapping of dead sticks, and crackling of
branches, proved that it was an animal of great weight and dimensions.

Karl was not long in doubt as to the dimensions; for the instant after
he beheld the body of a large beast emerging from the thicket, and
moving out into the open ground.

It required no skill to tell what sort of animal it was--a bear beyond
the probability of a doubt--and yet it was of a species that Karl had
never before seen.  But there is such a similitude between the members
of the Bruin tribe, that he who has ever seen one--and who has not?--
will easily recognise all the rest of the family.

The one which now presented itself to the observation of our
plant-hunter, was of medium size--that is, less than the great polar
bear, or the "grizzly" of the Rocky Mountains, but larger than the
Bornean species, or the sun-bear of the Malays.  It was scarce so large
as the singular sloth-bear, which they had encountered near the foot of
the mountains, and with which they had had such a ludicrous adventure.
It was but little less, however, than the "sloth," and, like it, was of
a deep black colour, though its hair was neither so long nor shaggy.
Like the latter, too, its under lip was whitish, with a white mark on
its throat resembling a Y--the stem of the letter being placed upon the
middle of its breast, and the fork passing up in front of the
shoulders--for this is a mark which belongs to several species of
Southern Asiatic bears.  In other respects the bear in question was
peculiar.  It had a neck remarkably thick; a flattened head, with the
forehead and muzzle forming almost a straight line--and on this account
distinguishing it from the sloth-bear, in which the forehead rises
almost abruptly from the line of the muzzle.  Its ears were of large
size--its body compact, supported on stout but clumsy limbs--and its
feet armed with claws of moderate dimensions, and blunted at their
points.  Such were the markings of the bear now before the eyes of Karl;
and although he had never seen one of the kind before, he had read of
one; and by these peculiarities he was able to recognise the species.
It was the Tibet bear (_Ursus Tibetanus_)--more commonly styled by
closet-naturalists _Helarctos Tibetanus_--one of the bears that inhabit
the high table-lands of Tibet, and is supposed to range through the
whole of the Upper Himalayas, since it has been found in Nepaul and
elsewhere.

I have said that Karl was badly frightened with this black apparition.
This was at the first sight of it, as it came out of the bushes; and,
indeed, it is not at all surprising that he was so.  There is no one,--
not even a bear-hunter himself,--who can encounter a bear upon the
bear's own ground without feeling a little trembling of the nerves; but
when it is remembered that Karl was quite unarmed--for he had left his
gun at the bottom of the cliff--it will not be wondered at, that the
appearance of the bear caused him alarm.

His fright, however, was of short duration; and for two reasons.  First,
he remembered having read that this species of bear is of a harmless
disposition; that it is not carnivorous, but feeds only on fruits, and
in no instance has it been known to attack man unless when wounded or
assailed.  Then, of course, it will defend itself, as many animals will
do that are otherwise gentle and harmless.

Another reason why he soon got over his fright was, that he chanced to
be in such a position that it was not likely the bear would attempt to
come near him.  He was quite out of its way; and if he only kept
silent--which he would be careful to do--the animal might not even look
in that direction, but go off again without perceiving him.  In hope
that such would be the result, Karl sat without stirring, and kept as
quiet as a mouse.

But Karl chanced to be building his hopes on a false foundation.  The
bear had no notion of going off as it had come--it had other designs
altogether; and, after shuffling about over the stones--now and then
uttering the same asinine snort that had first called attention to it--
it marched straight forward to the cliff, just under the spot where Karl
was seated.  Then, rearing its body erect, and placing its fore-paws
against the rock, it looked up into the face of the astonished
plant-hunter!



CHAPTER FORTY NINE.

AN AWKWARD DESCENT.

It is probable that the bear at this moment was quite as much astonished
as Karl, though perhaps not so badly scared.  It must have felt alarm
though, for on seeing him it permitted its paws to drop suddenly to the
ground, and appeared for a moment undecided as to whether it should turn
tail and run back into the thicket.  It did actually make a turn or two,
growling and looking up; and then, as if it had got over its surprise,
and was no longer afraid, it once more approached the cliff, and planted
itself to spring upward.

On first perceiving the bear, Karl had been seated upon the ledge, just
above the path by which he had climbed up, and it was by this path that
the animal was threatening to ascend.  On perceiving its intention, Karl
sprang to his feet, and set to dancing about on the ledge, uncertain
what to do, or whither to flee.

As to opposing the ascent of the bear, he did not think of such a thing.
He had no weapons,--not even a knife; and had he attempted to wrestle
with it, trusting to his strength alone, he very well knew that the
struggle would end either by his being hugged to death in the arms of
the great brute, or pushed off the ledge and crushed to atoms in the
fall.  He had no idea, therefore, of standing on the defence--he thought
only of retreating.

But how was he to retreat? whither was he to run?  It would be of little
use going along the ledge, since the bear could easily follow him; and
if the animal meant to attack him, he might as well keep his ground and
receive the assault where he stood.

Karl was still hesitating what to do, and the bear had commenced
crawling up, when he chanced to remember the cave.  This suggested an
idea.  Perhaps he might conceal himself in the cave?

He had no time to consider whether or not this would be a prudent step.
If he hesitated any longer, the great black brute would lay hold of him
to a certainty; and therefore, without reflecting another moment, he ran
off along the ledge.

On arriving opposite the cave, he turned into it; and, groping his way
for a pace or two, squatted down near the entrance.

Fortunately for him he had, upon entering, kept well to one side before
he squatted.  He had done so, in order to place himself under the
darkness.  Had he remained in the central part of the "entrance-hall,"
he would either have been run over by the bear, or gripped between its
huge paws, before he could have pronounced those two famous words, "Jack
Robinson."  As it was, he had scarcely crouched down, when the bear
entered, still snorting and growling, and rushed past him up the cave.
It made no stop near the entrance, but kept right on, until, from the
noises it continued to make, Karl could tell that it had gone a good way
into the interior of the cavern.

It was now a question with the plant-hunter what course he should
follow--whether remain where he was, or pop out again upon the ledge?

Certainly his present situation afforded him no security.  Should the
bear return to the attack, he could not expect it to pass without
perceiving him.  He knew that these animals can see in a very obscure
light--almost in the midst of darkness; and therefore he would be seen,
or if not seen, he would be scented, which was equally as bad.

It was no use, then, remaining inside; and although he might be no safer
outside, he determined to go thither.  At all events, he would have
light around him, and could see his antagonist before being attacked;
while the thought of being assailed in the cave, and hugged to death by
an unseen enemy in the darkness, had something awful and horrible in it.
If he were to be destroyed in this way, neither Caspar nor Ossaroo
might ever know what had become of him--his bones might lie in that dark
cavern never to be discovered by human eyes: it was a fearful
apprehension!

Karl could not bear it; and, rising half erect, he rushed out into the
light.

He did not pause by the entrance of the cave, but ran back along the
shelf to the point where the path led up.  Here he stopped, and for
several minutes stood--now looking anxiously back towards the cavern's
mouth, and now as anxiously casting his glances down the giddy path that
conducted to the bottom of the cliff.

Had Karl known the true disposition of the Tibet bear, or the design of
the particular one he had thus encountered, he would not have been so
badly frightened.  In truth, the bear was as much disinclined to an
encounter as he, at a loss, no doubt, to make out the character of its
adversary.  It was probable that Karl himself was the first human biped
the animal had ever set eyes on; and, not knowing the strength of such a
strange creature, it was willing enough to give him a wide berth,
provided he would reciprocate the civility!

The bear, in fact, was only rushing to its cave; perhaps to join its
mate there, or defend its cubs, which it believed to be in danger, and
had no idea whatever of molesting the plant-hunter, as it afterwards
proved.

But Karl could not know this, and did not know it.  He fancied all the
while that the bear was in pursuit of him; that, to attack him, it had
sprung up to the ledge; and that it had rushed past him into the cave,
thinking he had gone far in; that, as soon as it should reach the
interior, and find he was no longer there, it would come rushing out
again, and then--

It is well-known that one danger makes another seem less, and that
despair will often lend courage to cowards.

Karl was no coward, although in calm blood the descent of the cliff had
cowed him.  But now that his blood was up, the danger of the descent
appeared less; and, partly inspired by this belief, and partly urged on
by the fear of Bruin reissuing from the cave, he determined once more to
attempt it.

In an instant he was on his knees, and letting himself over the edge of
the rock.

For the first length of himself, he succeeded beyond his expectations,
having found the steps below readily enough.  He was gaining confidence,
and the belief that it would be all right yet, and that, in a few
seconds more, he would be at the bottom, where he could soon escape from
the bear by taking to a tree, or defend himself with his gun, which was
lying, ready loaded, on the ground.  All the while, he kept his face
upward, except during the moments when it was necessary to glance below,
to discover the position of the steps.

No wonder he looked upward, with eyes full of anxiety.  Should the bear
attack him now, a terrible fate would be his!

Still there were no signs of the animal, and Karl was gradually getting
lower and lower in his descent.

He was yet scarce half-way down, and full twenty feet were between his
heels and the ground, when he arrived at a point where he could find no
resting-place for his feet.  He had found one upon a knob of rock; but
unfortunately it proved brittle and gave way, leaving him without any
thing broad enough to rest even his toe upon.  He had already shifted
his hold with the hands; and was, therefore, compelled to support the
whole weight of his body by the strength of his arms!

This was a terrible situation; and unless he could immediately get a
rest for his feet, he must fall to the bottom of the cliff!

He struggled manfully; he spread out his toes as far as he could reach,
feeling the rock on both sides.

Its face appeared smooth as glass; there was nothing that offered
foothold; he believed that he was lost!

He tried to reach the notches above him; first with one hand, then with
the other.  He could just touch, but not grasp them; he could not go up
again; he believed that he was lost!

His arms were dragged nearly out of joint; his strength was fast going;
he believed that he was lost!

Still he struggled on, with the tenacity by which youth clings to life;
he hung on, though certain that every moment would be his last.

He heard voices from below--shouts of encouragement--cries of "Hold on,
Karl!  Hold on!"

He knew the voices, and who uttered them.  They had come too late; a
weak scream was all the answer he could make.

It was the last effort of his strength.  Simultaneous with its
utterance, his hands relaxed their hold, and he fell backward from the
cliff!



CHAPTER FIFTY.

A MYSTERIOUS MONSTER.

Karl, poor fellow! was killed, of course; crushed to death upon the
rocks; mangled--

Stay--not so fast, reader!  Karl was not killed; not even hurt!  He was
no more damaged by his tall, than if he had only tumbled from a chair,
or rolled from a fashionable couch upon the carpet of a drawing-room!

How could this be? you will exclaim.  A fall of sheer twenty feet, and
upon loose rocks, too!  How could he escape being killed, or, at the
very least, badly bruised and cut?

But there was neither bruise nor scratch upon his body; and, the moment
after he had relinquished his hold, he might have been seen standing by
the bottom of the cliff, sound in limb, though sadly out of wind, and
with his strength altogether exhausted.

Let us have no mystery about the matter.  I shall at once tell you how
he escaped.

Caspar and Ossaroo, having expected him to return at an early hour, took
it into their heads, from his long absence, that something might be
wrong; and, therefore, sallied forth in search of him.  They might not
have found him so readily but for Fritz.  The dog had guided them on his
trail, so that no time had been lost in scouring the valley.  On the
contrary, they had come almost direct from the hut to the ravine where
he was found.

They had arrived just at the crisis when Karl was making his last
attempt to descend from the ledge.  They had shouted to him, when first
coming within hail; but Karl, intently occupied with the difficulty of
the descent, and his anxiety about the bear, had not heard them.  It was
just at that moment that he lost his foothold, and Caspar and Ossaroo
saw him sprawling helplessly against the cliff.

Caspar's quick wit suggested what was best to be done.  Both he and
Ossaroo ran underneath, and held up their arms to catch Karl as he fell;
but Ossaroo chanced to have a large skin-robe around his shoulders, and,
at Caspar's prompt suggestion, this was hurriedly spread out, and held
between the two, high above their heads.  It was while adjusting this,
that Karl had heard them crying out to him to "hold on."  Just as the
robe was hoisted into its place, Karl had fallen plump down into the
middle of it; and although his weight brought all three of them together
to the ground, yet they scrambled to their feet again without receiving
the slightest injury.

"Ha! ha! ha!" laughed Caspar, "just in the nick of time!  Ha! ha! ha!"

Of course there followed a good deal of rejoicing and congratulation
upon this narrow escape.  Narrow it certainly was, for had not Caspar
and Ossaroo arrived in the "nick of time," as Caspar expressed it, and
acted as promptly as they had, poor Karl would never have lived to thank
them.

"Well," said Caspar, "I think I may call this one of my lucky days; and
yet I don't know about that, since it has come so near being fatal to
both my companions."

"Both?" inquired Karl, with some surprise.

"Indeed, yes, brother," answered Caspar.  "Yours is the second life I've
had a hand in saving to-day."

"What! has Ossaroo been in danger, _too_?  Ha! he is quite wet--every
rag upon his body!" said Karl, approaching the shikarree, and laying
hand upon his garments.  "Why, so are you, Caspar,--dripping wet, I
declare!  How is this?  You've been in the lake?  Have you been in
danger of drowning?"

"Why, yes," replied Caspar.  "Ossy has."  (Caspar frequently used this
diminutive for Ossaroo.) "I might say worse than drowning.  Our comrade
has been near a worse fate--that of being _swallowed up_!"

"Swallowed up!" exclaimed Karl, in astonishment.  "Swallowed up!  What
mean you, brother?"

"I mean just what I have said--that Ossaroo has been in great danger of
being swallowed up,--body, bones, and all,--so that we would never have
found a trace of him!"

"Oh!  Caspar, you must be jesting with me;--there are no whales in the
lake to make a Jonah of our poor shikarree; nor sharks neither, nor any
sort of fish big enough to bolt a full-grown man.  What, then, can you
mean?"

"In truth, brother, I am quite serious.  We have been very near losing
our comrade,--almost as near as he and I have been of losing you; so
that, you see, there has been a double chance against your life; for if
Ossaroo had not been saved, neither he nor I would have been here in
time to lend you a hand, and both of you in that ease would have
perished.  What danger have I been in of losing both? and then what
would have been my forlorn fate?  Ah!  I cannot call it a lucky day,
after all.  A day of perils--even when one has the good fortune to
escape them--is never a pleasant one to be remembered.  No--I shudder
when I think of the chances of this day!"

"But come, Caspar!" interposed the botanist, "explain yourself!  Tell me
what has happened to get both of you so saturated with water.  Who or
what came so near swallowing Ossaroo?  Was it fish, flesh, or fowl?"

"A fish, I should think," added Karl, in a jocular way, "judging from
the element in which the adventure occurred.  Certainly from the
appearance of both of you it must have been in the water, and under the
water too?  Most undoubtedly a fish!  Come, then, brother! let us hear
this _fish story_."

"Certainly a fish had something to do with it," replied Caspar; "but
although Ossaroo has proved that there are large fish in the lake, by
capturing one nearly as big as himself--I don't believe there are any
quite large enough to swallow him--body, limbs, and all--without leaving
some trace of him behind: whereas the monster that did threaten to
accomplish this feat, would not have left the slightest record by which
we could have known what had become of our unfortunate companion."

"A monster!" exclaimed Karl, with increased astonishment and some little
terror.

"Well, not exactly that," replied Caspar, smiling at the puzzled
expression on his brother's countenance; "not exactly a monster, for it
is altogether a _natural_ phenomenon; but it is something quite as
dangerous as any monster; and we will do well to avoid it in our future
wanderings about the lake."

"Why, Caspar, you have excited my curiosity to the highest pitch.  Pray,
lose no more time, but tell me at once what kind of terrible adventure
is this that has befallen you."

"That I shall leave Ossy to do, for it was his adventure, not mine.  I
was not even a witness to it, though, by good fortune, I was present at
the `wind up,' and aided in conducting it to a different result than it
would otherwise have had.  Poor Ossy! had I not arrived just in the
right time, I wonder where you'd have been now?  Several feet under
ground, I dare say.  Ha! ha! ha!  It certainly is a very serious matter
to laugh at, brother; but when I first set my eyes upon Ossaroo--on
arriving to relieve him from his dilemma--he appeared in such a forlorn
condition, and looked the thing so perfectly, that for the life of me I
could not help breaking out into a fit of laughter--no more can I now,
when I recall the picture he presented."

"Bother, Caspar!" cried Karl, a little vexed at his brother's
circumlocution, "you quite try one's patience.  Pray, Ossaroo, do you
proceed, and relieve me by giving me an account of your late troubles.
Never mind Caspar; let him laugh away.  Go on, Ossaroo!"  Ossaroo, thus
appealed to, commenced his narration of the adventure that had occurred
to him, and which, as Caspar had justly stated, had very nearly proved
fatal; but as the shikarree talked in a very broken and mixed language,
that would hardly be intelligible to the reader, I must translate his
story for him; and its main incidents will be found in the chapters that
follow.



CHAPTER FIFTY ONE.

"BANG."

It so happened that Ossaroo had made for himself a regular fish-net.
Not being permitted to poison the lake with wolf's-bane, and having no
bamboo to make wicker-work of, he looked around for some other substance
wherewith to construct a net; and soon found the very thing itself, in
the shape of a plant that grew in abundance throughout the valley, and
particularly near the shores of the lake.

This plant was a tall single-stemmed annual, with a few digitate and
toothed leaves, and a loose panicle of greenish flowers at its top.
There was nothing _very_ remarkable about its appearance, except that
its stem was covered with short rigid hairs, and rose undivided to a
height of nearly twenty feet.  Many plants were growing together, and
when first discovered--all three of our adventurers were present at the
discovery--Caspar had said that they reminded him of hemp.  It was not a
bad comparison Caspar had hit upon, for the plant was _hemp_, as Karl
immediately made known--the true _Cannabis sativa_, though the variety
which grows in India, or rather a drug extracted from it, is called
_Cannabis Indica_, or "Indian hemp."  It was the tallest hemp either
Karl or Caspar had ever seen--some of the stalks actually measuring
eighteen feet in length, whereas that of the northern or middle parts of
Europe rarely reaches the height of an ordinary man.  In Italy, however,
and other southern portions of the European Continent, hemp attains a
much greater height, rivalling that of India in the length of its stalk
and fibre.  It was noticed that nearly one half of the plants, although
growing side by side, and mingled with the others, were much riper, and,
in fact, fast withering to decay.  The botanist explained this to his
companions, by saying that these were the male plants, and the growing
ones the females; for hemp is what is termed by botanists "dioecious"--
that, is, having male flowers on one plant, and female ones upon
another.  Karl farther observed that the male plants, after having
performed their office--that is, having shed their pollen upon the
females--not only cease to grow taller, but soon wither and die; whereas
the females still flourish, and do not arrive at maturity until several
weeks afterwards.  In consequence of this peculiarity, people who make a
business of cultivating hemp pull the male plants at the time they have
shed their pollen, and leave the females standing for four or five weeks
after.

It is well-known that hemp is one of the finest articles in the world
for the manufacture of coarse cloth, and every sort of cordage and
ropes.  The material used for the purpose is the fibrous covering of the
stalk, which is separated almost by the same means that are employed in
obtaining flax.  The hemp, when pulled up, is tied in bundles, and for a
time submitted to the action of water.  It is then dried and broken, and
afterwards "scutched," and rendered still cleaner and finer by a process
called "hackling."  It makes no difference in the fineness of the fibre
whether the stalks be small or large, since the great coarse stems of
the Italian and Indian hemp produce a staple equally as fine as the
small kinds grown farther north.

The Russians extract an oil from the seeds of hemp, which is used by
them in cooking, and by painters in mixing their colours.

Hemp-seed is also given to poultry--as it is popularly believed that it
occasions hens to lay a greater number of eggs.  Small birds are
exceedingly fond of it; but a singular fact has been recorded in
relation to this--that the effect of feeding bullfinches and goldfinches
on hemp-seed alone, has been to change the red and yellow feathers of
these birds to a total blackness!

Notwithstanding the many valuable properties of this plant, it has some
that are not only deleterious, but dangerous.  It contains a narcotic
principle of great power; and, strange to say, this principle is far
more fully developed in the Indian or Southern hemp than in that grown
in middle Europe.  Of course this is accounted for by the difference of
temperature.  Any one remaining for a length of time in the midst of a
field of young growing hemp, will feel certain ill effects from it--it
will occasion headache and vertigo.  In a hot country the effect is
still more violent, and a kind of intoxication is produced by it.

From observing this, the Oriental nations have been led to prepare a
drug from hemp, which they make use of in the same way as opium, and
with almost similar results--for it produces a drowsy ecstatic feeling,
always followed by a reaction of wretchedness.  This drug is known by
the Turks, Persians, and Hindoos, under a variety of names, such as
"bang," "haschish," "chinab," "ganga," and others; but under any name it
is a bad article to deal in, either for the health of the body or the
mind.

But Ossaroo was not deterred by any considerations about its baneful
effects; and as soon as he saw the hemp growing in the valley, he
recognised the plant with a shout of joy, and proceeded to prepare
himself a dose of "bang."  This he did by simply powdering some of the
dry leaves, which he obtained from the withered male stalks, and then
mixing the powder with a little water.  An aromatic substance is usually
added to give flavour to the mixture, but Ossaroo did not care so much
for flavour as strength; and he drank off his "bang" without any
adulteration, and was soon in the land of pleasant dreams.

The discovery of the hemp had made Ossaroo unusually happy.  He had been
suffering for the want of his "betel" for a long while, and the rhubarb
tobacco had proved but a poor substitute.  But the hemp was the very
thing, as it not only afforded him an intoxicating drink, but its dry
leaves were also good for smoking; and they are often used for this
purpose when mixed with real tobacco.  Of course Ossaroo had none of the
genuine "weed" wherewith to mix them, else he would not have troubled
his head about the rhubarb.

Ossaroo, however, was glad at discovering the hemp for another reason.
From its fibres he could make cordage, and with that cordage a net, and
with that net he would soon provide their table with a supply of fish.

He was not long about it.  The hemp was soon pulled, tied in bundles,
and carried to the hot spring.  There it was immersed under the water,
and soon sufficiently "steeped;" for it is well-known that hot water
will bring either flax or hemp to the same state in a few hours that can
be obtained by weeks of immersion in water that is cold.

Ossaroo soon prepared a sufficient quantity for his purpose, having
separated the fibre by "hand-scutching;" and working continually at the
thing, in a few days he succeeded in making a complete mesh-net of
several yards in length.

It only remained for him to set it, and see what sort of fish were to be
caught out of that solitary mountain lake.

And now for Ossaroo's adventure!



CHAPTER FIFTY TWO.

SETTING THE NET.

Karl had not been very long gone when Caspar and Ossaroo both left the
hut, but not together.  They parted from each other, taking different
directions.  Caspar had his gun, and went forth to search for game;
while Ossaroo proceeded towards the lake, with the intention of
capturing fish.

As nothing particular happened to Caspar--not even so much as the
starling of a head of game, or the getting a shot at any thing--there is
nothing to tell about him; and I shall therefore proceed at once to
Ossaroo and his adventure.

The shikarree, on arriving at the lake, soon found a proper place to set
his net in.  There was a little bay on one side that ran for some twenty
or more yards into the land, and ended just at the embouchure of the
little rivulet that came from the hot springs.

This bay was narrower at its mouth than elsewhere, where it formed a
kind of miniature "straits."  The water in the bay was of considerable
depth; but just at its entrance, where the straits were, it was not over
three feet, with a white sandy bottom that could be seen shining like
silver.  Any one standing near this point, in clear weather, could
easily observe fishes of several sorts and different sizes passing into
the bay and out of it, and disporting themselves over the white sand bed
that shone sparkling beneath them.  It was an interesting sight to watch
them at their innocent gambols, and the boys had more than once gone
down to the edge of the straits to observe them.

But Ossaroo had always regarded the sight rather with feelings of
chagrin than pleasure; for plainly as these beautiful fish could be
seen, not one of them could he capture.  Even the shoal-water of the
straits, where there was a sort of bar, was too deep to be dammed up in
any way, and Ossaroo had tried one or two plans for taking the fish,
without effect.  He had used his bow, and endeavoured to kill them with
arrows; but they swam too deep, and, somehow or another, he always
missed them.  The fact was that Ossaroo was not practised in shooting
fish with the arrow; and not understanding any thing about optics or the
laws of refraction, he missed his mark by aiming too high.

Had he been an Indian of North or South America, instead of an Indian of
the "East Indies," he would have pierced those fishes with an arrow at
every twang of his bow.

Instead of that, he only missed them, and was constantly wading in to
recover his arrows, but never to bring out any fish.  He was, therefore,
rather chagrined than pleased to see them so fearlessly and freely
playing about over the silvery sand; and this very chagrin had caused
him to work with greater diligence while preparing his mesh-net.

The net was now ready, and Ossaroo walked along chuckling and
congratulating himself on the prospect of speedy revenge--for he had
actually become inspired with a revengeful feeling against the poor
fish, because he had not been able to capture and kill them!

The place where Ossaroo intended to set his net was across the strait
that formed the mouth of the aforesaid bay.  He had designed the net for
this very place; and had made it of such length, that when at full
stretch, it would just reach from one side to the other.

The upper edge of the net was attached to a strong piece of raw hide,
for this was more easily attainable than a rope of hemp; and on the
lower edge there was another strip of hide, to which were fastened the
sinkers.  These, with the floats at the top--made out of a sort of
light-wood that he had found in the valley--would keep the meshes fully
spread, and hold the net in a vertical position.

It would thus form a complete gate, shutting up the little bay, and
leaving neither egress nor ingress for any fish that could not squeeze
itself through the meshes.  These last had been made very large; for
Ossaroo did not care for the "small fry."

It was the big fishes he was desirous of capturing--some of those large
fellows who had so often glided from under his arrows, and put him out
of temper by their saucy sporting.

He would see now if they would so easily escape the meshes he had so
cunningly contrived for them.

Proceeding, therefore, to the straits, he set his net across the
narrowest part, and just by the entrance to the bay.  The thing was
easily accomplished, he tied the rawhide rope to a sapling on one side,
that grew down by the edge of the water.  Then holding the upper edge--
so that the net would settle regularly in the water--he waded across,
carrying the line along with him, and made it secure on the other side.
Of course the sinkers did their work by dragging the lower selvage
downward, while the floats kept the upper edge from dipping below the
surface of the water.

There was a large tree upon the opposite side--so large that its great
branches spread half-way across the little strait--and when the sun was
on that side, which it always was after the hour of noon, this tree,
covered with thick foliage, quite shadowed the water, rendering it of
darkish colour, and somewhat obscure.  At this hour the fish could not
be so easily seen, even against the background of the silvery sand at
the bottom.

Now Ossaroo had chosen the hour when the sun was gone behind the tree,
for he knew that in a very clear sunshine the fish would perceive the
net, and of course put about, and shy off from it.  He had, therefore,
waited for the afternoon to make his first essay.

Having fastened both ends, and adjusted the whole matter to his liking,
he sat down upon the bank; and, summoning all his patience, awaited the
result.



CHAPTER FIFTY THREE.

OSSAROO STUCK FAST.

For more than an hour sat the shikarree watching every ruffle upon the
water, and every motion of the floats, but no movement, either of wood
or water, seemed to indicate that there were fish in the lake.  Once or
twice there appeared a little "purl" on the surface, near the line of
the floats, and Ossaroo fancied he had made a "take" of it; but, on
wading in and examining the net, not a fin could be found, and he had to
wade out again with empty hands.  These "purls" were occasioned either
by very small fish passing through the meshes, or else by large ones who
came up, and touching the net with their snout, had taken the alarm and
beat a retreat back to the pools whence they had come.

Ossaroo was beginning to grow very impatient with his ill-fortune, and
was thinking, too, what a sorry figure he would cut in the eyes of his
companions, after returning to the hut.  He had calculated on a great
triumph to be obtained by means of this net; and now he began to doubt
whether it might not turn out a humiliation rather than a triumph.

At this crisis, however, an idea occurred to him which promised success.
It was simply to _drive the fish into the net_, by wading into the
water, and making as much noise and commotion as he could.  This was
certainly a very good plan, and Ossaroo lost no time in putting it into
execution.  Having procured a long stick, with an armful of large
stones, he entered the bay above the point where the net was placed, and
then plunging through the water, at the same time beating it with his
stick, and flinging his stones into the deepest part, he succeeded in
making noise enough to have frightened all the fishes in the lake.

His plan succeeded admirably.  In less than five minutes--nay, in less
than half that time--the violent shaking of the floats told to the
attentive eyes of the shikarree that one or more large fishes were in
the net and struggling within its meshes.  He now gave up beating the
water and ran to make sure of the prey.  On approaching the strait, he
perceived that a very large fish had been caught.  It was near the
middle of the net, and Ossaroo, wading out, soon "grabbed" and secured
it.  The strong creature struggled hard, and endeavoured to escape from
the grasp of its captor; but the latter put an end to its efforts, by
giving it a sharp knock on the head with one of the stones which he
still carried.

He next proceeded to release it from the meshes; but these, on account
of the desperate struggles which the fish had made, were warped and
twisted around its gills and fins, and worked into such a labyrinthine
puzzle, that Ossaroo found it no joke to get them clear.  He was full
ten minutes in accomplishing this feat, but he at length succeeded, and,
holding the huge fish triumphantly in his hands above the surface of the
water, he uttered a shout of victory.

He was about to wade out to the bank with his prize, when, to his
astonishment, he found that he could not move a step!  He tried to lift
first one leg and then the other, but without success.  Both were held
as fast as if screwed in a vice!  At first he was only puzzled and
astonished, but his astonishment soon changed to dismay, when he found
that, exert himself as he might, he could not move a limb!  He at once
perceived the cause, for there was no mystery about that.  He perceived
that both his legs were fast in a quicksand, into which, while engaged
with the meshes of the net, he had been gradually sinking.  The surface
of the sand was already above his knees, so that he could not even bend
the joints, and there he stood as firmly as if he had been planted!

For some time he struggled to relieve himself, but his struggles were of
no avail--he could not drag out one foot or the other.  The sand was
wedged around his limbs, and held him as firmly as if it had been Roman
cement.  He could not stir from the spot!

At first, I have said, Ossaroo felt only astonishment, but this feeling
soon changed to dismay.  It became absolute terror when he perceived
that he was _still gradually sinking_!--yes, beyond a doubt, he was
going down deeper and deeper.  The sand was already up to his thighs,
and, as the water was nearly a yard in depth, his chin almost touched
the surface.  Six inches more, and _he would drown_!  Drown, thus
standing erect, with part of his head above the surface, and his eyes
wide open and gazing upon the light of heaven!  It was an awful
situation--a fearful fate that threatened him!

It would not be true to say that Ossaroo remained silent during all this
terrible trial.  He did nothing of the kind; on the contrary, as soon as
he became aware of his danger, he set up a continuous screaming, and
yelling, and shrill piping, that caused both the woods and rocks to ring
around him, to the distance of a mile at least.

Fortunately for the shikarree, Caspar chanced to be within the
circumference of that mile, wandering about with his gun.  The quick ear
of the hunter caught the sounds, and knew that they were signals of
distress.  Without a moment's delay, therefore, he set off; and, guided
by the cries, soon arrived upon the ground.

It was some time, however, before Ossaroo was relieved from his perilous
position, for although Caspar could wade in to his side, he was quite
unable to drag him out of the sand.  In fact, Caspar himself sank so
rapidly, whenever he stood still, that he was compelled to keep
constantly moving, and changing from one foot to the other.  His
strength, then, was quite unequal to the task, and both began to be
uneasy about the result.

Up to this time Caspar had been laughing heartily at the ludicrous
spectacle which Ossaroo presented, with only his head above the water,
and his face wearing the most lugubrious of looks; but Caspar's mirth
was soon dissipated, when he perceived the real danger in which the
shikarree was placed; his laughter was brought abruptly to an end, and
an expression of anxiety now clouded his countenance.

But Caspar was just the one for quick thought and action in a ease of
danger like this, and, almost in an instant, he conceived a plan by
which Ossaroo might be saved.  Crying to the latter to keep still, he
dashed out of the water and loosed the net at both ends.  He then drew
out the long rope that formed its upper border, cutting away the meshes
and floats.  This done, he rapidly climbed the great tree, and sprawled
out along one of its horizontal limbs that stretched right over the
place where the shikarree was fixed.  He had taken the rope along with
him; and, now throwing one end to Ossaroo, and directing him to fasten
it around his body, he passed the other over the branch, and slipped
down it into the water.

In a few seconds the rope was made fast upon the body of Ossaroo--just
under his armpits--and then both laid hold of the other end, and
commenced pulling with all their might.

To their great joy their united strength proved sufficient for the
purpose.  It out-balanced the weight and tenacity of the sand; and after
a good spell of pulling and tugging, Ossaroo's limbs were drawn upward
and once more set free.  Then both rushed out to the bank, and the same
trees and rocks that so lately echoed the mournful cries of the
shikarree, now rang with shouts of joy.



CHAPTER FIFTY FOUR.

A DEMAND FOR BEAR'S GREASE.

The peril from which he had just escaped, drove all thoughts of fishing
out of Ossaroo's head, for that day at least.  Moreover, the net was
damaged by the rope having been so rudely taken out, and would require
repairs before it could be set again; so, taking up the fish that had
been caught and the net also, Caspar and the fisherman walked off toward
the hut.

On arriving there, they were surprised to find that Karl had not
returned, for it was getting late; and fearing that some accident might
have happened to him, they lost no time in setting forth in search of
him.

As already known they were guided upon his trail by Fritz, and arrived
just in time to save Karl's life.

"But tell us, brother," inquired Caspar after a while, "what took you up
there anyhow?"

Karl now entered into a detail of _his_ afternoon's adventures--telling
them at the same time of the hope he had conceived of their being able
to scale the precipice with ladders.

When he came to the bear, Caspar was all ears.

"What! a bear?" he exclaimed; "a bear, you say, brother?--Which way did
it go?"

"Into the cave--it is still there."

"Still in the cave!  Good! we'll have him out--let us go after him at
once."

"No, brother, it is better not,--it might be dangerous to attack, him in
the cave."

"Not a bit of it," replied the daring hunter; "Ossaroo says that these
bears are great cowards, and that he would not be afraid to attack one
single-handed with his spear.  You think so, shikarree?"

"Yes, Sahib, he bear--big coward, me no fear him anywhere."

"You remember, Karl, how the other one ran from us--just like a deer
would have done."

"But this one is a different kind," suggested Karl; and Karl proceeded
to describe the bear which he had encountered.

Ossaroo, however, knew the animal by the description given, and declared
that it was quite as timid a creature as the sloth-bear.  He had hunted
this kind in the Sylhet Hills--where he had been upon an expedition--and
where, he asserted, the Tibet bear was to be found in considerable
numbers.  It would not be dangerous, therefore, to attack it in the
cave, or anywhere else.  Such was the opinion of the shikarree.

Karl at length ceased to urge his objections.  He began to think that
the bear had not been in pursuit of him, after all,--else it would have
returned out of the cave on not finding him--most likely the cave was
its den, and it was to hide itself there that it had rushed so
determinedly past him.  This appeared probable enough, since they had
been waiting a good while, and Bruin had not yet condescended to show
himself upon the ledge.

It was resolved, therefore, that they should all enter the cavern, and
kill the bear if possible.

This resolve, however, was not made without considerable deliberation;
but two reasons were at length brought forward that not only decided the
point in favour of killing the bear, but rendered it a matter of some
consequence that they should succeed in this design.

The first reason was that they really wanted the animal, and it was of
importance to them that it should be killed.

It was not for its fine skin they wanted it--though that might be of use
to them in the cold winter, now near at hand--nor did they want to kill
the bear merely for the pleasure and excitement of the thing.  No.  They
had a very different object in view.  They wanted the carcass, or rather
that portion of it that is termed the "fat."  They wanted the "bear's
grease."

For what purpose? you will ask.  To make their hair grow?  Nothing of
the sort.  The hair of all three, from late neglect, was long enough--
quite as long as they could have wished it.  Caspar's curls hung over
his shoulders, and Ossaroo's snaky black tresses dangled down his back
like the tail of a horse.  Even Karl's silken locks were long enough to
have satisfied the most romantic of refugees.  No.  They wanted the
bear's fat, not for their hair, but for their kitchen.  They wanted it
to cook with, for one thing, but a still more important use they
intended to apply it to,--and that was for making candles!  For both of
the above purposes they had need of the bear's fat, since the other
animals which they were accustomed to hunt and kill were chiefly
ruminant animals, with very little fat upon them, and never enough of it
to cook their own flesh.

You who live in a land where there is plenty of lard and butter, can
hardly understand what it is to be without these essential articles of
the _cuisine_.  In most civilised countries that valuable pachyderm,--
the pig,--supplies the desideratum of lard; and you will scarce
appreciate the importance of this article until you have travelled in a
country where the hog is not found among the domesticated animals.  In
such places the smallest morsel of fat is highly prized, for without it,
good cooking is a dry and difficult business.

Such considerations as these determined the fate of the bear.  The
hunters well knew that animals of this kind yield large quantities of
the very best fat, which they then stood in want of, and would need
still more during the long nights of winter.  Perhaps there might be
more than one bear in the cave; so much the better; one or more, they
must be attacked and killed.

But there was another reason why they had determined to enter the cave;
one of far greater consideration than the killing of the bear.  It was
Caspar who had suggested it.

"Why," asked he, "why might we not get out by this very cave?  What if
it should prove to run upward, and have an entrance above, or on the
other side of the mountain?"

Both Karl and Ossaroo were startled at the suggestion.  The idea put all
of them into a flurry of excitement.

"I have read of such things," continued Caspar; "of great caverns that
extended from one side of a mountain to the other.  There is one in
America that has been traced for twelve miles; the Mammoth, I mean!
This might be one of the same kind.  You say you saw far into it, Karl?
Let us explore it then, and see where it leads to."

It was but a slight hope, still it was a hope; and it could not cost
much trouble to give the cave a thorough exploration.  It would be but a
small matter compared with the construction of ladders to scale the
cliff; besides, they were now convinced by a farther examination of the
precipice that this was not practicable, and had quite abandoned all
thought of it.  Should the cavern prove to be of vast extent, and have
another opening elsewhere than in the valley, they might escape from
their terrible prison, and their troubles would be at an end.

With such hopes,--that were indeed little better than fancies,--they
consoled themselves for the moment.

It was resolved, then, that on the morrow the cave was to be entered.
For all the assistance they would have from the light of the sun, they
might as well have begun their exploration at night.  But they were not
ready to begin.  Torches had to be procured; and a notched tree by which
to ascend the cliff; and to obtain these required time.  They would have
them ready by the morrow.

With this determination, they returned to their hut; and at once set
about making the torches, and preparing the notched tree for their
ladder.  There were other little preparations to be made, but most of
them were completed before they thought of retiring to rest.



CHAPTER FIFTY FIVE.

BEAR-HUNT BY TORCH-LIGHT.

As soon as it was daylight again, they went to work once more, and
finished their preparations for entering the cave, and at a tolerably
early hour they took the route for the ravine.

Two of them carried the _improvised_ ladder; which was only a slender
pine-tree, of about forty feet long, notched by the axe, the notches
being at intervals of a foot to eighteen inches apart.  At its more
slender part, there were no notches required, as the natural branches of
the tree, lopped into short stumps, were to be used as foot-holds, and
would serve the purpose better than any notches.

Forty feet of even the slenderest tree when green would be load
sufficient for a couple of stout men.  This one was not green; for they
had been fortunate enough to find one that had fallen long ago, and that
was now quite dead and dry.  For all that, it "tied" the united strength
of Caspar and Ossaroo to carry it along, for it was they who performed
this duty.  Karl was loaded with the guns, torches, and the great spear
of the shikarree.  Fritz carried nothing except his tail; and this he
bore aloft in a swaggerish manner, as though he knew that something more
than common was designed, and that grand game was to be killed that day.

They moved but slowly; but after about two hours' walking, including
many stoppages and rests, they arrived within the ravine and under the
ledge.

It occupied about another hour to erect the ladder.  It was placed
nearly opposite the mouth of the cave, instead of by the path; for there
appeared a favourable crevice in the rocks, which promised to hold it
steady, and keep it from turning round; an important consideration with
so rude a ladder.  The upper end of the tree was laid into the crevice,
and fitted exactly.  The lower end was rendered firm by something like a
cartload of heavy boulders being built around it.  It could neither
shift nor turn.  It was fast as a shut trap.  Nothing now remained but
to ascend, light the torches, and enter the cave.

A question, however, arose, whether Bruin might still be inside?  It was
doubtful enough, and there was no means of knowing.  He had ample time
to have gone out, since they left the place on the preceding evening,
and, very likely, had wandered forth for a nocturnal ramble; but, had he
returned? was he now "at home" to receive them? or, was he still abroad,
robbing the bushes of their fruit, and the bees of their honey?

No one could tell; there was no sign visible; no hint far visitors.  The
door was open, and all who came night enter or not, as they pleased.

For a while, our hunters had some hesitation about this matter, and
debated the point as to whether it might not be better to lie in ambush,
and watch for Bruin going out or returning home.  Most certainly the
cave was his home.  The path leading up had all the appearance of being
much used.  The rocks were scratched by his claws, and discoloured by
his feet--his, or those of other animals.  Karl had noticed all this,
when making his first ascent; therefore, there need be no fear but that
the bear would come back in one direction or another.

He might be trapped, and that would save a struggle; but this mode was
not to the liking either of Caspar or Ossaroo, and Fritz apparently
voted for a bear-fight.

Ossaroo, especially, declared that there was not the slightest danger in
attacking him, armed as they were; not so much as there would be in an
encounter with a sambur stag.  He suggested, moreover, that it might be
days before they would set eyes upon him; that he might go to sleep in
his den, and lie there for a week without showing himself; and,
therefore, it would never do to wait for him.  He must be looked for
within the cave, and assailed in his gloomy stronghold.  So counselled
the Hindoo hunter.

But it needed no argument.  Karl alone was for the prudent way of
setting a trap, and capturing the animal without risk; but Karl was as
anxious as either of the others to explore the cave.  The words of
Caspar had made a deep impression upon him; and, slight as was the hope
that Caspar's conjecture might be true, still there was something in it.
It _might_ be so.  Once more, it was like the drowning man catching at
the straw.

Without farther hesitation the ladder was set up, as already described;
and, shortly after, all four--for Fritz is to be counted in this
adventure--stood upon the ledge in front of the cavern's mouth.

Each had now possession of his own weapons: Karl, his rifle; Caspar, the
double-barrel; and Ossaroo, his spear, bow and arrows, hatchet and
knife.

There were two torches, each one nearly a yard in length, with handles
that measured nearly another yard.  They were made of splints from the
pine-trees, that had been shared off while dressing the latter for the
bridge.  They were now quite dry, and, tied together in a bundle, would
burn splendidly.  They were no novelty, these torches.  They had made
similar ones before, and tried them; and, therefore, they could depend
upon them to give them light within the cave.

They entered without lighting the torches, intending only to use them
when it became necessary.  Perhaps, after all, the cave might be of
small extent, though Karl believed that such was not the case.  He had
noted that the bear had gone a good way back, as he was able to judge by
his snorts and growling.

This point was soon settled.  When they had proceeded many paces from
the entrance, and the light of the sun began to fail them, they could
perceive that the cavern grew wider and higher, and, like a great, black
gateway, yawned far back into the rocks.  Apparently, there was no
termination to it!

The tinder which they had prepared was now set on fire; and the ends of
the torches, touched with pine-tree resin, were soon ignited, and began
to blaze.

All at once the cavern shone with a thousand lights, which had not been
hitherto observed.  The sparkling stalactites projecting downward from
the roof, with here and there the drops of clear filtered water, gave
back the glare from the torches in a thousand coruscations.  It seemed
to our young hunters as though they were treading the famed halls of
Aladdin's palace.

On they marched along the wide passage, holding their torches on high,
and, at intervals, pausing to examine some nook or chamber that opened
right or left--still searching for the bear.  As yet, they had seen no
traces of the animal; though, from the excited baying of Fritz, it was
plain to them that either Bruin himself, or some other quadruped, had
passed up the cave before them.  The dog was evidently upon a hot scent,
and lifting it as fast as they could follow him.

A little after, Fritz doubled to one side, and appeared busy with some
object by the side of the cave.  The hunters were under the impression
that the game had been found, and halted, each bringing his piece to the
ready.

After a moment, however, Fritz glided out, and again sprang forward on
the trail.  The torches were carried up to where Fritz had made his
temporary pause, and, under their light, a large pile of withered leaves
and grass was made visible.  It was the snug den of Bruin--still warm
where his huge carcass had lain; but the cunning brute was no longer
"abed."  He had been roused by the noises of his enemies, and had
retreated farther into the cavern.

Fritz was again moving forward along the trail, uttering an occasional
"growl" as he went.  He was by no means a fast dog at taking up a scent,
nor yet on the run.  These were not his qualities.  But he was stanch
and sure, and desperate when once he grappled with the game.  So sure
was he, that, whenever he started off upon a trail, you might rely upon
it, with perfect confidence, that the game was before you.

The three hunters thought no longer of looking for the bear anywhere
else than before the snout of Fritz; and, therefore, the chase became
simplified to keeping the hound in view.  The nature of the ground--here
covered with blocks of loose stone, there with huge stalagmites--
prevented the dog from making rapid progress.  The bear had often
doubled and halted, no doubt having some difficulty himself in making
way in the darkness; and this doubling caused much delay to Fritz; so
much, that the torch-bearers could generally keep him in sight.

Now and again, he became lost to view; and then there was a halt, and
some moments of indecision, which were ended only by the long howl of
the hound echoing through the cavern, and guiding them to his
whereabouts.

You will be surprised that they should at any time have lost the chase.
You will fancy that, by keeping on, they must overtake Fritz in time, or
meet him returning.

Such might have been true, had there been only one passage through this
stupendous cavern; but, instead of one, they saw scores of vaulted
aisles forking at intervals, and traversing in very different
directions.  They had long since turned both to the right and the left--
more than once turned--without any other guide than the baying of the
hound, or the view of his yellow body, as he scrambled along the trail.
An immense cavern if was, full of ways, and passages, and halls, and
chambers; many of them so like each other, that the hunters could not
help thinking they were running in a maze, and going repeatedly over the
same ground!

By this time Karl had begun to reflect, and his reflection was, that
they were proceeding rashly.  Certain ideas were rising in his mind--
ideas somewhat undefined--but one among the rest was, that, going as
they were, without taking either "bearings or distances," they might get
lost!

Before he had time to call his companions to a halt and take some
deliberation about the matter, a peculiar noise struck upon their ears--
a noise that was easily recognised as being made by the united voices of
two angry animals--a dog and a bear.

Beyond a doubt it was Bruin and Fritz--beyond a doubt they were "in
grips!"

The Plant Hunters--by Captain Mayne Reid



CHAPTER FIFTY SIX.

LOST IN THE CAVE.

The scene of their encounter was at no great distance--about twenty
yards off; and, guided by the loud growling and "worrying," the hunters
easily directed themselves towards the spot.  After stumbling over
stalagmites, and now and then hitting their heads against the projecting
points of the stalactites, they arrived upon the ground; and the glare
of the torches was thrown upon two animals--a dog and a bear.  They were
near the middle of an immense open hall, or chamber of the cavern.  Both
were in fighting attitudes; the bear standing upon the flat top of a
rock--about three feet above the surrounding level--and the dog
assailing his leg, now on one side of the rock, and now upon the other.
The bear was defending himself with his huge paws; and at intervals
flung the forepart of his body downward, with the design of seizing the
hound in his hug.

Fritz well knew the danger of being embraced in the fore-arms of a bear,
and therefore made his attacks from behind; springing up at the
hind-quarters of Bruin, and biting him in the hams.  To avoid these
assaults upon his rear, the bear kept turning round and round, as though
he was spinning about upon a pivot!

It was altogether a laughable sight to witness the curious contest
between the two quadrupeds, and had the hunters been pursuing the bear
for mere amusement, they would have permitted the fight to go on for
some time without interfering in it.  But amusement was just then out of
the question.  The fat of Bruin was a thing of far more importance; and
now that the hunters had become aware of the vast size and endless
labyrinths of the cavern, they perceived that it was quite possible in
such a place to lose both the bear and his fat.  He might have escaped
them as easily as if he were in the open woods.

With these ideas, therefore, they were only too anxious to put an end to
the struggle, and secure the game.

The bear could not have offered them a better opportunity.  His position
upon the rock rendered him a conspicuous mark, both for the bullets of
the guns and the arrows of Ossaroo.  Besides, there was no danger of
wounding Fritz, if good aim was taken by the marksmen.

Good aim _was_ taken--a couple of loud reports echoed through the cave--
one of Ossaroo's arrows whistled, and penetrated the thick shaggy skin--
and the next moment the huge black mass rolled down from the rock, and
lay back uppermost, kicking his paws about in the last throes of death.
Then Fritz leaped upon his upturned breast, seized the white throat
between his jaws, and choked and worried at it till the last breath was
squeezed out of poor Bruin's body, that the next moment lay quite limp
and motionless.

Fritz was now scolded off, and the torches were held near, in order that
the hunters might examine the game they had killed.  A splendid specimen
the bear was--one of the biggest and fattest of his kind; and no doubt
would yield them a large amount of the precious "grease."

They had scarcely made this reflection when another of far different
character forced itself upon their minds, and compelled them to stand
gazing at each other with looks of mute inquiry.  Each waited for one of
the others to speak; and although no one had yet said a word, all
equally felt that they were in a dilemma.

What dilemma? you will ask.  The game had been secured--what difficulty
would there be in dragging it out of the cave, and afterwards taking it
home to their hut?

All this may appear easy enough to you, because you do not yet
understand the situation in which the hunters were placed--you do not
comprehend why they stood gazing upon each other with troubled looks.

Why they did so was simply this:--while examining the carcass of the
bear, they observed that their _torches were burnt out_!  Not quite to
the ends, it is true; but so near that they could not be depended on to
light them a score of yards.  They were already flickering and burning
dimly--in a few seconds more they would be quite extinguished; and what
then?

Ay, what then? that was the thought that was troubling them--that it was
that caused them to stand looking anxiously towards one another.

Even they themselves did not fully comprehend the peril of their
situation.  They saw that they were going to be left in darkness--the
perfect darkness of a dungeon--but it had not yet occurred to them that
_they might never again see the light_!  That appalling thought had not
yet shaped itself in their minds--they only believed that the want of
torches would put them to much inconvenience--they would have great
trouble, and perhaps difficulty, in finding their way out of the cave,
and getting the bear along with them--they might first have to grope
their way out, and then get fresh torches, and return for the game; and
all this would take a good deal of time, and give them a large amount of
trouble; but never mind that--the prize they had obtained in the fat of
the bear, and his fine hide--which would make a grand winter robe--would
repay them for all.

Ha! it was only after their torches had gone quite out, and they were
left in total darkness--only after they had groped and groped, and
wandered about for hours--now sprawling over loose rocks, now tumbling
down into deep clefts--only after they had gone through all this, and
still saw no light--no sign by which they could even guess at their
whereabouts, that they became fully alive to the peril of their
situation, and began to experience the awful apprehension already
expressed--that _they might never again see the light_!

And such in reality was their fear, when, after hours spent in fruitless
wandering, they stood holding each other's hands, crouching and cowering
together in the midst of that amorphous darkness!



CHAPTER FIFTY SEVEN.

A RAMBLE IN THE DARK.

Their dread was not at all unreasonable, considering the vast extent of
the cavern--considering the distance which they knew they had
penetrated--considering the various devious and like ways through which
they had passed while in pursuit of the bear--and, above all,
considering the absolute darkness that now reigned around them.  Of
course they could see nothing, not even each other; not one of them
could have seen the nose upon his own face, had he been looking for it.

Place yourself in the midst of complete darkness, and you will wonder
how little progress you can make in any direction.  Indeed, you cannot
follow a right line even were there no impediment in your way.

After you have advanced a few steps, your face will begin to turn in a
new direction, and perhaps keep turning, until you have gone round the
four cardinal points!  You need not be told this; "blind man's buff"
will have imparted to you the idea, long ere now.  You will remember
that, after having made a turn or two, you could not tell to which side
of the room you were facing, unless you laid your hand upon the piano,
or some piece of furniture, and recognised it by the touch.

How just like the blind man in the game, so the three were situated;
with the exception that they had no piano--no furniture--no object of
any kind--to guide them.  They knew not where to turn--they knew not
which way to advance--which way to go back.

For many minutes, they stood paralysed by the confusion.  As already
stated, they held each other by the hand, and in this way they stood.
Each feared to let the others go, lest he might lose them!  Of course
this was but an idle tear, as their voices would enable them to keep
together; but there was something so awe-inspiring in their situation,
that they all felt childish and helpless, and they needed the support of
one another.

After remaining at rest a while, they started off afresh; holding each
other by the hands, as they moved.  This precaution was more necessary
while they were in motion than at rest.  They dreaded that one of their
number might fall over some high steep or into a deep hole; and while
thus clinging together, the danger would be less--that is, if all three
did not go over together.

For several hours they wandered about, and, according to their own
belief, must have walked many miles; but of course their progress was
slow, as they had to feel their way at _every_ step.  They grew tired
with the effort they had to make, and at intervals sat down to rest
themselves; but their feelings would not permit them to pause long; and
they would up to their feet again, and scramble on as before.

For many hours--and many miles, say they--they walked, but saw no ray of
light to cheer them--saw nothing, felt nothing that they could
recognise.  At times they thought they must be far into the mountain--
perhaps miles from the entrance of the cavern; at other times they
fancied they had gone several times through the same passage; and once
or twice they knew they had done so, by recognising the rocks over which
they had passed.

This gave them a hope that in time they might get acquainted with the
different turnings and passages,--and that would have been possible
enough; but it would have taken a long time, and what were they to
subsist upon while acquiring this knowledge?  They thought of this, and
saw at once the foolishness of the hope they had conceived.

The dog Fritz moved along, sometimes before, sometimes by their side,
and sometimes in the rear.  He kept silent, seemingly as much frightened
as they.  They could tell he was there, by hearing at intervals the
scratching of his claws upon the rocks, when some boulder lay in the
way, and compelled him to scramble over it.  What could Fritz do more
than they?  In such darkness he could not see his nose any more than
they?  No--but he could make use of that nose to direct himself, which
was more than any of his masters could do.

"Ha!" shouted Caspar, as this idea passed through his mind.  "Ha,
brother!  Ossaroo! why might not Fritz guide us?  Why might he not scent
his way out of this horrid dungeon?  Surely he must be as tired of it as
we are!"

"Let us try what may be done," rejoined Karl, by his tone showing that
he had no great hope in the experiment.  "Call him up, Caspar!  He knows
you best."

Caspar addressed the dog by name, adding a few coaxing words, and in an
instant Fritz was by his side.

"How shall we manage?  Leave him to himself?" inquired Caspar.

"I fear he will stand still, and not attempt to go ahead of us," replied
Karl.

"We can try him."

And as Caspar made this suggestion, all stood silent and listening.

They stood a long while to give the dog a fair trial, but he knew not
what they wanted, and he remained patiently beside them without
manifesting any disposition to leave.  The experiment was a failure.

"Now," suggested Karl, "let us urge him forward and follow after--
perhaps he will lead us in that way."

Fritz was now commanded to advance, and obeyed the command--for they
could hear him start off with a slight whimper; but to their chagrin
they found that they could not tell in what direction he had gone.  Had
he been running on the scent of some animal, his occasional baying would
have served to guide them, as it had done while they were chasing the
bear.  Now, however, the dog ran without noise; and although they could
hear an occasional scrape of his claws, yet it was not sufficiently
frequent or continuous to guide them.  The experiment again failed, and
Fritz was whistled back.

But it was not without result.  Like many other failures, it led to
reflection and a rearrangement of the machinery.  A better plan soon
offered itself to the quick wit of Caspar; and Ossaroo had been thinking
of something similar when he cried out--

"Tie string to ee tail!"

"No," replied Caspar, "not to his tail, for then he would not go
forward; but let us hold him in a leash with the string round his neck,
in a regular way.  That will be better, I warrant."

No sooner said than done.  Thongs and belts were loosed from
powder-horns and pouches; a leash was constructed and fastened round the
neck of the dog, and he was then hunted forward as before.

Caspar handled the straps, and the others followed, guided by Caspar's
voice.

In this order they had scrambled along for a hundred yards or more, when
the dog began to whimper, and then to bay, as if going upon a trail; and
in a moment or two after, he came, all of a sudden, to a stop.

Caspar felt by his strong pulling on the leash, that the dog had sprung
forward and seized something.  He stooped down and felt before him.
Instead of the hard cold rocks, his fingers came in contact with a mass
of long shaggy hair.

Alas! their hopes were dispelled.  Instead of conducting to the mouth of
the cave, Fritz had only brought them back to the carcass of the bear!



CHAPTER FIFTY EIGHT.

CAVERN-LIFE.

They were all filled with disappointment, and particularly that the dog,
having arrived at the spot where the bear had been killed, would go no
farther.  Drive him as they would by commands, or coax him by words of
encouragement, he would not part from the carcass.  Even when carried
off to some distance, and let go, he always drew Caspar back to the same
spot.  It was very vexatious.

So thought they at first; but after a little reflection, they began to
think better of it; and to recognise in this incident something more
than chance.  Karl especially thought so, and pointed out to his
companions that the hand of Providence had to do with it; and that that
same hand would yet conduct them safely out of the dismal dungeon into
which they had so imprudently ventured.

Karl's words had a cheering effect; for he pointed out how fortunate it
was for them that they had once more found the carcass.  But for that
they should have had nothing to eat, and, as a matter of course, would
have soon perished of hunger.

Now, however, that the bear was found, they could subsist upon his flesh
for days; and during one of these days they might succeed in reaching
the entrance.  They would take care not to lose the knowledge of the
place where the carcass lay; and whatever excursion they might make from
that spot, they should always arrange some clue by which they might
return to it.

Fortunately for them there was water in the cavern.  In many places it
dripped from the rocks in sufficient quantity to give them as much as
they wanted for drink; and not far off they had crossed a little rivulet
that ran down the bottom of one of the great galleries.  This they knew
they could find again; and, consequently they felt no apprehensions on
the score of water.

It was a question, then, how long they would be in finding the entrance,
and how long they could live upon the flesh of the bear.

The finding of Bruin's carcass had considerably bettered their
prospects; and as they gathered around it to dinner, they felt more
cheerful than they had done since the moment when they had laid it low.

As they ate, it was dark enough around them to have called the meal a
supper; and it was long enough since they had eaten their breakfast--
though they could not guess how long--but as they had eaten nothing
since breakfast, they styled this first meal upon the bear-meat their
dinner.

No dinner or supper was ever cooked like that--_it was not cooked at
all_! for they had no fire wherewith to cook it.

They were not squeamish.  A very long interval had transpired since they
had eaten their slight breakfast.  Karl and Caspar had refrained from
the uncooked viand until their appetite could resist no longer; and then
the raw flesh of the bear became palatable enough.  It was supper time
with Ossaroo.  His stomach had more easily got over its scruples, and he
had bolted his dinner long, long ago; so that when the others sat down
to their first meal, Ossaroo was able to join them at his second.

Both Karl and Caspar ate heartily enough,--quite as heartily as if a
chandelier with its wax-lights had been sparkling over their heads.
Perhaps the absence of light was a circumstance in their favour.  The
huge paws--those "titbits" of the bear's flesh--constituted their
dinner; and hunters will tell you that, boiled, roasted, or _raw_, a
bear's paw is not bad eating.

When they had finished their meal, all three groped their way to where
they heard the trickling of water.

They found a place where it oozed in a rapid and continuous dripping
through the rocks; and, applying their mouths to this subterranean
fountain, they were enabled in a few moments to slake their thirst.

They then returned to where they had dined; and, being now much wearied
with their long-continued exertions, they stretched themselves upon the
rocks with the intention of having some sleep.  Though their bed was a
hard one, it was not cold; for in the interior of great caverns it is
never cold.  There the temperature is more equable than that of the
atmosphere without--being cooler in summer and warmer in winter, so that
variety is scarcely known--at all events, the extremes of heat and cold
are never felt.  This is the ease with the Mammoth Cave of Kentucky, and
other large caverns; and on this account it has been thought that
persons suffering from pulmonary complaints might derive benefit by
dwelling in caves.  There are many such patients who make their home in
the Mammoth; and where a commodious hotel enables them to live in
comfort, and even luxury!  It is possible enough that the mild and
equable temperature that exists under ground may enable the victim of
consumption to prolong life for a considerable time: but it is doubtful
whether any radical cure can be effected in this way; and the
unfortunate sufferer, once he emerges from his subterranean dwelling,
will be in as much danger from the insidious disease as before.

Little did Karl, Caspar, and Ossaroo, care for the mild atmosphere that
surrounded them in the cavern.  They would gladly have exchanged it for
the hottest country in the torrid zone, or the coldest spot in all the
Arctic regions.  Biting mosquitos in the former, or biting frost in the
latter, would have been more welcome than that mild and gentle climate
that surrounded them--that gloomy atmosphere, where sun had never shone,
and where snow had never fallen.

Notwithstanding their anxiety of mind, their weariness at length
overcame them, and all three fell fast asleep.



CHAPTER FIFTY NINE.

EXPLORATION OF THE CAVE.

They slept a good long while, though, whether if was by night or by day,
they had no means of judging.  They could only guess at it, by
remembering how much time had transpired since they first entered the
cave; but to show how little trust can be placed in any conjectures of
this sort, they differed from one another in their estimates full twelve
hours!

Karl thought they had been wandering about nearly two days and a night;
while the others believed the time not so long by twelve hours at least.

Karl adduced a reason for his belief--the ravenous appetite which they
had acquired, and which must have taken a long time to grow upon them;
moreover, they had slept so long that he thought it must be in the
night-time--the natural time of rest, which the nerves would understand
without any clock to guide them.  Karl admitted that his second reason
was somewhat lame, since, having missed one night of sleep, their nerves
on the day following would not be very nice about what hour they should
feel inclined towards slumber.

It is probable, however, that Karl was right in his conjecture.  They
had been long hours wandering to and fro, and had rested many times.
The fuelling of horrid anxiety under which they had been suffering
always impelled them to press on; and no wonder they had lost all
definite recollection of the distance they had gone, or the time thus
fruitlessly spent.  It had taken them a good while to get the ladder in
place; and the first day had been far spent before they were ready to
penetrate the cave.  It was, therefore, quite probable that their first
sleep had been during the second night, after entering their gloomy
chamber.

Whether or not they had slept long and soundly enough--though not
without troubled dreams--in which they had encountered bears, fierce
shaggy yak-bulls, deep dangerous pits into which they were about to
fall, and high cliffs they were trying in vain to climb--it was quite
natural they should dream of such things.

It was the awaking that was most unnatural.  Instead of a bright
sunshine to greet their eyes, or the soft blue light of morning, they
saw nought--all around was gloom.  Instead of the music of birds, or
even the cheering sounds of active life, they heard nought.  All around
was the silence of the tomb!

A tomb it might yet be to them--for a short while, perhaps, a living
tomb; but, sooner or later, a tomb for their dead bodies--a sepulchre
for their bones!

Such were their reflections on awaking.  Their dreams while asleep were
even less horrid than the reality to which they awoke!

If the sense of sleep regards not the absence of light, still less is
the appetite of hunger affected by it.  Once more the bear's paws were
drawn upon for a meal, and afforded it without boil or broil, bread or
salt.

As soon as they had eaten to their satisfaction, they rose to their
feet, and set about the work which Karl had already traced out in his
thoughts.  Of course, before going about it he had fully communicated
his plans to his companions.

They were to make excursions in every direction from the spot where the
bear had been killed.  There were many galleries leading from the
place--they had noticed that while their torches were yet burning.  All
these they designed to explore, one after another.  The explorations
were at first to be for short distances, until they had made themselves
familiar with the passage extending in some one particular direction.
This they would accomplish by _feeling_ the rocks on either side, until
they became thoroughly acquainted with the protuberances, or other marks
that could be used as guides.  If none existed, they would make them, by
piling up stones at such places, or chipping a piece from the
stalactites with the hatchet.  Their design, in effect, was to "blaze"
the passages, so that they would know them again, just as a woodman
marks his way through the pathless forest.

It was altogether an ingenious idea, and one that with time and patience
promised success.  Indeed, it seemed the only plan that held out a hope
beyond mere chance--for amidst so many devious ways, to have proceeded
without some plan would have been to trust to chance, and that they had
tried already.

They well knew that to carry out their design would require both time
and patience; but by this, all three were well drilled in the lessons of
patience.  The bridge-building had been a school for them.  It might not
take much time, but it might; and for either result had they made their
minds ready.

In all probability, however, they might be long before they should set
their eyes upon a ray of the sun's light--before they should see that
bright disk of the cavern's mouth, that they had scarce looked at while
leaving it behind them.

It was their intention then, first, to take one particular direction,
and thoroughly explore that before penetrating into any other.  When the
first should be traversed, either to its termination, or to such a
length as might influence them in believing they were in the wrong way,
they would then leave it, and set to exploring some other.  Sooner or
later, they believed that this would bring them into the passage that
would conduct them out of their gigantic prison.

Before setting about the execution of their plan, they once more made
trial of Fritz, as upon the day before; but the dog would not part from
the spot; and though, encouraged by the voice of Caspar, he would beat
about for a certain space--it always ended by his returning to the
carcass of the bear.

As soon as they became convinced that Fritz would not guide them, they
released him from the string; and then, in real earnest, set about
carrying out the design of Karl.

Their mode of proceeding was quite ingenious.  They groped about until
they found a large passage that led from the chamber or opening in which
they were.  This gallery they resolved to explore first.

Lest by any mistake they might not find their way back, one always
remained at a certain point; while the other two went ahead--stopping at
intervals to blaze their way.  Of course should the two who acted as
pioneers make a wrong turn, so as not to know the route back, the voice
of the third would at once guide them.

In this manner they proceeded without much difficulty, though with great
slowness.  You will fancy they might have gone fast enough, their
retreat being thus secured for them.  But there were many obstacles to
prevent a rapid advance.  Each lateral passage they came to--and there
were numbers of these--had to be marked for future examination, and the
mark had to be made distinct and recognisable--this operation sometimes
requiring a considerable time to effect.  They had also to make their
blazes at short intervals, so that these might be the more easily found
upon their return.  Another impediment was found in the clambering over
sharp boulders, and getting across clefts that everywhere intercepted
their path.

Ay, slowly and with great caution were they compelled to make their
advance, and when _night came_--that is, when they had grown wearied and
hungry, and wanted food and rest--they calculated they had not proceeded
above half-a-mile from their place of departure.  Of course no light had
cheered them throughout those long working hours; but for all that they
returned to the resting-place with their hearts still buoyed up with
hope.  To-morrow,--or the morrow after, or still another morrow, what
mattered it?--they felt high confidence that on some morrow they would
look once more upon the sun.



CHAPTER SIXTY.

PRESERVING THE BEAR'S-MEAT.

There was one thing, however, about which they were apprehensive, and
that was about their larder--how long would it last?  The bear was large
and fat, they could tell by the "feel" of him; and if they drew upon the
carcass for moderate rations, it would hold out for many days; but then
how was the meat to be preserved?  Lying as it was--still unskinned--it
must soon become unfit for food, though not so soon as in the open air;
for meat will keep much longer in a cave,--that is, if it be a very deep
one, than it will when exposed to the full light of the sun.

This is easily explained.  The principle of decomposition exists in the
atmosphere itself, as is well-known to every one who deals in the
hermetically-sealed airtight canisters of preserved meats; and if you
can but remove the atmosphere entirely from a piece of fish, flesh, or
vegetable, it is supposed that it will keep for ever!

In the interior of a cavern, of course there is still an atmosphere, but
it is rarer and of a less changeable sort, and, most probably, less
active in its powers to cause decay.  Hence it is that within the cave
decomposition is slower than without; and, indeed, there are some
caverns where, instead of being decomposed, the bodies of men and
animals have been found still retaining their proper forms, only
shrivelled into smaller size, and dried up like mummies.

Though there was water here and there in the cavern, in all other places
it was exceedingly dry.  They could tell that the air was so, because
the rocks felt dry, and in some places there was dust that was perfectly
ready to puff up at the touch.  They had noticed this while in pursuit
of the bear.  Both bear and dog had more than once been found enveloped
in a cloud of dust as the hunters came near them with the torches.
Indeed, they could tell that the atmosphere of the cavern was dry by
simply breathing it in,--it felt dry to the throat.

Under the keen apprehension which they had lest the meat should spoil
before they could find the entrance of the cave, their wits were set to
work to find some means of preserving it.  Salt they had none, and
therefore pickling was out of the question.  Had they been able to
procure the material to make a fire, they could have managed without
salt by smoking the meat; but fire-wood was just then as difficult to be
got at as salt.  Even without either, had they only been in the open
air, with the warm sun shining down upon them, they could have cured
that bear-meat so that it would have kept good for months.

Alas! the sun's rays were as inaccessible as either the salt or the
fuel.

Preserving the meat by any one of the three different modes of salting,
smoking, or jerking, was alike out of their power.

Having already noticed the extreme dryness of the atmosphere, it
occurred to them that if the meat were cut into very thin slices or
strips, and then hung up, or spread out upon the rocks, it might not
spoil at once--at all events, it might keep for a longer period than if
suffered to lie as it was in one great mass.  This was Ossaroo's
suggestion, and a good one it was.  At all events, nothing better could
be thought of, and after some consideration, they determined to act upon
it.

Where were they to procure lights?  How was the bear to be skinned
without light?  How was the flesh to be cut up and spread out?

These were questions that did not present the slightest obstacle--our
adventurers scarce gave thought to them.  They had by this time almost
learnt to work in the darkness; and as for the skinning of the bear,
Ossaroo could have performed that operation if it had even been
darker,--supposing this to be possible.  There was no difficulty about
lights; and the shikarree, having been assisted by the others to place
the carcass in a proper attitude, set to work with the keen blade of his
knife, and, almost as readily as if a dozen candles had been held by
him, he stripped off the shaggy hide, and laid it back upon the rocks.

The cutting the flesh into slices and strips would be easily effected,
though it would require more time, and should be done with great nicety.
If not sliced very thin, the meat would be liable to spoil the sooner.

But the Hindoo hunter was a very adept at this sort of thing, and his
skill enabled him to complete the business in such a manner that had his
"griskins" been submitted to the light, no one could have told they had
been "carved" in the darkness.

The strips, as they were cut by Ossaroo, were passed into the hands of
the others, who having already spread out the hide with the hairy side
undermost, laid the pieces upon it.

As soon as Ossaroo had stripped the bones pretty clean, it was then time
to dispose of the flesh.  A question now arose as to whether it would be
better to spread the pieces out upon the rock or hang them up upon
lines.

Decidedly better to hang them up, thought Ossaroo; and the others agreed
with him.  They would dry sooner in that way, it was thought; besides,
as Caspar suggested, they would be out of the way of Fritz, who, if not
looked after, might steal a march upon them, and devour half the meat at
a single meal.  By all means they should be hung out of his reach.

But how was this to be accomplished?  Where were the ropes and lines to
be obtained?  They had neither poles to serve as uprights, nor ropes to
be stretched between them.  True, there was a long piece of cord in the
possession of Ossaroo, which he had manufactured from the Indian hemp,
while making his fish-net; but this would not be enough.  It would take
many yards of cord to carry such a quantity of meat.  What was to be
done?

"Cut the hide into strips!" cried Caspar, in answer to the question.

The very thing; and no sooner suggested than carried into effect.

The sliced meat was removed--the raw hide was stretched out, and cut
into thongs of about an inch in thickness, and these being knotted
together, a rope was soon made that reached from side to side of the
great chamber.  The ends of this were fastened to the rocks; one was
looped around a jutting point, and the opposite was held by being placed
upon a little shelf with a heavy stone on top of it; and thus a line,
something after the fashion of a clothes-line, was carried across the
chamber.

When they had tried its strength, and were convinced that it would serve
the purpose intended, they carried the meat slice by slice, and laid it
carefully across, until the string was full.

Another line had to be made before all was hung up; and this was made
and fastened to the rock, in a similar manner as the first.  The
remainder of the slices were suspended upon it, and all hands now
desisted from their labour.  Their day's work was done; for whether it
was night or day, they had been busy for a long time, and on the
completion of the job were fain to betake themselves once more to rest.

They ate their meal, and lay down intending to sleep only for a few
hours, and then to rouse themselves and with renewed energies continue
their search after the light of the sun.



CHAPTER SIXTY ONE.

DREAMS.

Karl in his sleep had a dream, "Let there be light, and there was
light!"

This highly poetic passage of Scripture had been running in his mind
during the past hours.  He was thinking of chaos before the creation;
and their own situation might well suggest the chaotic age.  He was
thinking--and reverentially--of the wonderful power of the Creator, who
out of such darkness could cause light to shine forth by the simple
expression of his will, "Let there be light, and there was light!"

Karl dreamt that a form had appeared to them,--the form of a beautiful
man,--and that from his body a bright light, similar to that of the sun,
radiated on all sides.  Around his head and face the rays were
distributed in the form of a glory, such as Karl had seen upon many old
pictures of the Saviour.  Looking more attentively at the face, Karl
also recognised its resemblance to the same pictures;--the gentle and
benign expression, the noble forehead, and fair curling hair,--all were
the same.  Karl, who was of a religious turn, believed it was the
Saviour he saw in his dream.  The cave was no longer in darkness; it was
lit up by the coruscations of light that emanated from the beautiful
vision, and Karl could see all around him.

After regarding him for a while, the bright form turned and moved off,
beckoning Karl and the others to follow.

They obeyed; and, after traversing numerous passages and chambers,--some
of which they recognised as having passed through while in chase of the
bear,--they were guided to the mouth of the cavern, where the strange
apparition, meeting the light of the sun, melted into the air and
disappeared from their sight!

The delight which Karl felt, at this _denouement_ of his dream, caused
him to awake with a start, and with a joyful ejaculation upon his lips.
It was suddenly suppressed, and followed by an expression of pain and
disappointment.  The happy passage had been only a dream,--a false
delusion.  The reality was as dark and gloomy as ever.

The interjections of Karl awoke his companions; and Karl perceived that
Caspar was greatly excited.  He could not see him, but he knew by his
talk, that such was the case.

"I have been dreaming," said Caspar, "a strange dream."

"Dreaming! of what?"

"Oh! of lights, brother,--of lights," replied Caspar.

Karl was deeply attentive,--almost superstitious.  He fancied that
Caspar had seen the same vision with himself,--it must have been
something more than a dream!

"What lights, Caspar?"

"Oh! jolly lights,--lights enough to show us out.  Hang me! if I think I
dreamt it after all.  By thunder! good brother, I believe I was half
awake when the idea came into my mind.  Capital idea, isn't it?"

"What idea?" inquired Karl in surprise, and rather apprehensive that
Caspar's dream had deprived him of his senses.  "What idea, Caspar?"

"Why, the idea of the _candles_, to be sure."

"The candles!  What candles?--Surely," thought Karl, as he asked the
question,--"surely my poor brother's intellect is getting deranged,--
this horrid darkness is turning his brain."

"Oh!  I have not told you my dream,--if it was a dream.  I am confused.
I am so delighted with the idea.  We shall group no more in this hideous
darkness,--we shall have light,--plenty of light, I promise you.  Odd we
did not think of the thing before!"

"But what is it, brother?  What was your dream about?--Tell us that."

"Well, now that I am awake, I don't think it was a dream,--at least, not
a regular one.  I was thinking of the thing before I fell asleep, and I
kept on thinking about it when I got to be half asleep; and then I saw
my way clearer.  You know, brother, I have before told you that when I
have any thing upon my mind that puzzles me, I often hit upon the
solution of it when I am about half dreaming; and so it has been in this
case, I am sure I have got the right way at last."

"Well, Caspar,--the right way to do what?  The right way to get out of
the cave?"

"I hope so, brother."

"But what do you propose?"

"I propose that we turn tallow-chandlers."

"Tallow-chandlers!  Poor boy!" soliloquised Karl; "I thought as much.  O
merciful Heaven, my dear brother! his reason is gone!"

Such were Karl's painful surmises, though he kept them to himself.

"Yes, tallow-chandlers," continued Caspar, in the same half-earnest,
half-jocular way, "and make us a full set of candles."

"And of what would you make your candles, dear Caspar?" inquired Karl,
in a sympathising tone, and with the design of humouring his brother,
rather than excite him by contradiction.

"Of what," echoed Caspar, "what but the fat of this great bear?"

"Ha!" ejaculated Karl, suddenly changing his tone, as he perceived that
Caspar's madness had something of method in it, "the fat of the bear,
you say?"

"Certainly, Karl.  Isn't his stomach as full of tallow as it can stick?
and what's to hinder us to make candles out of it that will carry us all
over the cave,--and out of it, I fancy, unless it be the greatest maze
that Nature has ever made out of rock-work?"

Karl was no longer under the belief that his brother had gone mad.  On
the contrary, he saw that the latter had conceived a very fine idea; and
though it did not yet appear how the thing was to be carried out, Karl
fancied that there was something in it.  His sweet dream recurred to
him, and this he now regarded as ominous of the success of some plan of
escape,--perhaps by the very means which Caspar had suggested,--by
making candles out of "bear's grease!"

These were pleasant thoughts, but to Karl the pleasantest thought of all
was the returning conviction that Caspar _was still in his senses_!



CHAPTER SIXTY TWO.

HOPES.

Ossaroo now joined in the general joy; and the three placed their heads
together, to deliberate upon Caspar's suggestion, and to discuss its
feasibility in detail.

But neither Karl nor Ossaroo had much need to spend their opinion on the
details; for the original "promoter" of the plan had already conceived
nearly the whole of them.  It was, in fact, these that he had got hold
of while half asleep; and which, on first awaking, he believed to have
occurred to him in a dream.  But there was no dream in the matter.  The
idea of making candles from the bear's fat had been in his mind before
he lay down--he had even thought of it while they were at work in curing
the meat.

"Yes," said he, commencing to tell them in detail all that had passed
through his mind upon the subject; "I had thought of the candles, while
assisting Ossaroo to cut up the bear.  I could tell, by the touch, that
many pieces of the meat were almost pure fat; and I wondered to myself
whether it would not burn and make a light.  I knew, of course, that
there was plenty more in the great stomach of the animal, and that of
the real sort of which candles could be made.  Would it burn? that was
the question that puzzled me.  I feared that it would not burn without
first being rendered to grease or lard, and a wick put into it,--in
fact, I knew it could not; and there arose the difficulty, since we had
no fire wherewith to render the fat, and no vessel to render it in, even
if we had been provided with fire in plenty."

"Ah! that is too true," assented Karl, rather despairingly.

"Well, so thought I, Karl, and I had well-nigh given up thinking about
the matter--of course, I said nothing about it to either of you--as I
knew you could not create fuel out of stones any more than I, and there
was an end of it."

"Yes--an end of it," unconsciously echoed Karl, in a desponding tone.

"Not yet, brother! not yet!" rejoined Caspar, as he proceeded in his
relation.  "You see the thing had got into my thoughts, and, after a
while, I found myself once more speculating upon it.  How were we to
make a fire that would melt that fat?  That we could strike a light, I
knew--we could do that with our tinder or gunpowder; but where were we
to get sufficient fuel to make a fire with, and where was the vessel to
be obtained, in which to render the lard?  At first, I thought only of
the fire.  If we could once raise fuel for that, the vessel would not be
of so much importance--we might contrive to heat a flat, thin stone, and
melt some of the fat in that way.  If we could not make fine candles, we
might dip some wick in the grease, and thus have a kind of taper that
would serve almost as well.  I knew we had wick--I remembered the long
hempen string which Ossaroo has got, and I knew that that would serve
admirably for the purpose.  All that would be easy enough--at least it
appeared so--all except the stuff for the fire."

"Very ingenious of you, Caspar; these things had never entered my mind.
Go on, brother!"

"Well--to make a long story short, I have got the fuel."

"Bravo! good! good!" exclaimed Karl and Ossaroo in a breath, and in
accents of joy.  "You have got the fuel?"

"Yes--I found it, at length; just as I was bobbing over asleep, the idea
crossed my mind; though I fancied I was only dreaming, and must have
afterwards fallen asleep.  But I partially awoke shortly after, and took
to thinking again; and then I found the vessel in which we can render
our tallow--I think we can."

"Hurrah! better than all!"

"And now, listen to my plan; for I have been thinking while I have been
talking, and I have it _more_ complete than ever.  Maybe you can both
add something, but here is what I propose."

"Tell us, Caspar--all right, go on."

"We have with us two guns--Ossaroo has his spear, his hatchet, his bow,
and a good quiver of arrows--fortunately his quiver, too, is of thick
bamboo, and dry as a chip.  First, then, I propose that, with Ossaroo's
axe, we break up the stocks of our guns, ramrods, and all--we can soon
make others, once we get out--also the shaft of Ossaroo's spear, his
bow, arrows, and quiver--never mind, Ossaroo, you can replace them from
the forest.  This being done, we can make a fire large enough to melt as
much fat as will make us no end of dips."

"You are right, brother," interposed Karl; "but how about the vessel to
melt it in?"

"That puzzled me for a while," replied the ingenious Caspar; "but I got
over the difficulty, at length, by thinking of my powder-flask; you know
it is a patent one, and the top screws off.  Well--we can take off the
top, empty the powder into one of our pockets, and make use of the
bottom part for the lard.  I am sure it will stand the fire, for it is
stout copper without a flaw.  The only difficulty is, that it is small;
but we can fill it over and over again."

"And you propose to make the string which Ossaroo has got into wicks,
and dip them in the hot grease?"

"Nothing of the sort," replied Caspar, in a triumphant tone; "we shall
have no dips.  I was contented with them at first, but not any longer.
We shall have candles--real mould-candles!"

"How?  Mould-candles?  How?"

"Oh! that you shall see by-and-by.  Ossaroo would only disclose part of
his plans when he went to trap the tiger, and I mean to keep a little of
mine to myself, in order to have a _revanche_ upon him.  Ha! ha! ha!"

Caspar finished his speech with a laugh.  It was the first time any of
them had laughed since they entered that cave--no doubt, the first laugh
that ever echoed through its gloomy aisles.



CHAPTER SIXTY THREE.

LIGHT IN DARKNESS.

Without losing farther time, the three set to work to make the fire,
Caspar of course taking the direction.  The barrels were first taken out
of their guns, the locks unscrewed, and then the other iron-work was
removed from the stocks.  By dint of a little hammering with stones, and
cleaving with the hatchet, the butt of each was separated from the
heel-piece, and then broken up into small fragments.  Even the two
ramrods were sacrificed--the heads and screws being carefully preserved.
In no reckless humour did they act, for they had now very definite
expectations of being able to escape from the cave; and prudence
whispered them that the valuable weapons they were thus dismantling
might be needed hereafter, as much as ever they had been.  Nothing,
therefore, was damaged that could not be afterwards replaced--nothing
thrown away.  Only the wood-work was sacrificed to present necessity.
Every article of iron, to the smallest nail or screw, was carefully
preserved; and when all were separated from the wood-work, they were
placed together and tied into a bundle, so that they might be easily
carried along.

Ossaroo's weapon went "to the hammer" next.  The spear-head was knocked
off, and the long shaft broken into a dozen pieces.  The bow was
unstringed and cut into chips, and then the arrows were snapped across,
and the quiver split up.  All these would be excellent materials, and
from their age and dryness would ignite and burn like touch-wood.

An important addition to their stock of fuel was obtained from a source
up to this time quite unthought of.  They now remembered the two large
handles by which they had carried the torches; for they had made them
with handles something after the fashion of a stable-broom.  These had
been dropped at the time the torches went out, and were lying somewhere
near the spot.  All three set to "grambling," and soon found both of
them; and better still, found them with a considerable quantity of the
resinous splits of the pine still attached to their ends.

This was a bit of good luck, for the pine-chips thus obtained would be
the very thing wherewith to kindle the fire.  Already well seasoned, and
covered with the resin, that had run over them from the burning torches,
they would catch like gunpowder itself.

The whole of the fire-wood was now collected together, and formed a
goodly pile.  There would be enough for their purpose, even without the
handle of Ossaroo's hatchet, which was still left in its socket.  It
could be drawn out at any time, but very likely would not be required.

Now it was clear to all of them, that their little stock of fuel, if set
fire to in the ordinary way, would burn too rapidly, and become
exhausted long before their candle-making operations could be completed.
This would be a sad dilemma, and would leave them in a worse situation
than ever.  Means, therefore, must be taken to avoid such a catastrophe,
and means were adopted, as follows:--

They first set to work, and constructed a little furnace of only six or
eight inches in diameter.  This they easily built out of the loose
blocks of stone that were lying about.  In this furnace they placed a
portion of their fire-wood--for it is well-known that the furnace is the
best plan for economising fuel.  The whole of the heat is thrown
upwards, and a vessel placed on top will receive double the heat that it
would, if hung over a scattered fire that is open on all sides.

But another important consideration led them to the building of the
furnace.

They saw that when the light-wood should be fairly kindled, they could
prevent it from blazing too rapidly, by casting upon it pieces of the
bear's fat; and in this way not only prolong the burning of the wood,
but make a much stronger fire.  This idea was a very happy one, and at
once secured them against a scarcity of fuel for their purpose.  The
furnace was made very narrow at the top, and two stones were placed so
that the powder-flask,--emptied of its contents of course--should rest
between them, and catch the full strength of the upward blaze.

All these things were arranged without light, but when they had
proceeded thus far, they worked no longer in the darkness.  The chips
were placed in the bottom of the furnace--the tinder was ignited by
means of flint and steel--its burning edge was placed in contact with
the fine resin-covered shavings of pine-wood; and in another instant the
great vault, that had so late been buried in amorphous gloom, was
sparkling like a chamber set with diamonds!

The light enabled all three to do their work with rapidity and sureness.

Ossaroo was seen over the skeleton carcass cutting out the huge masses
of tallow, and placing it upon the rocks.  Karl was busy in attending to
the fire, which, now that it had received several pieces of the fat,
burned brightly and steadily--while Caspar stood near occupied with the
barrels of his gun.

What was Caspar doing with the gun?  Surely it could be of no service
now, without either stock or lock?  Ah! you mistake.  It was just now
that it became of service, and of great service.  Only watch Caspar a
little, and you will see that he has an object in handling that brace of
barrels.  Observe!--he has unscrewed both the nipples, and is drawing
the end of a string through each of them.  The other end of these
strings may be seen protruding from the barrels at the muzzle.  Those
strings are wicks already prepared from the hempen cord of Ossaroo, and
you need not now be told what use Caspar intends to make of his
beautiful smooth bores, for by this time you will have guessed it.

"Candle-moulds of course!"  I hear you exclaim.

"Candle-moulds of course," I reply; and most excellent moulds they will
make, almost as good as if that had been the original design in their
construction.

Well, the work went on--the wicks were got into their places--and as
soon as the first flask of fallow was rendered into grease, it was
poured into one of the barrels.  This process was repeated again and
again, and several times more, until, to the great delight of all, both
barrels were observed to be full to the muzzle.

Of course the barrels were hot, and the grease inside them still in a
liquid state.  It would be necessary, therefore, to wait patiently until
they should cool, and the candles become "frozen" and firm.  In order to
hasten this result, they carried them to the place where the water
dripped from the roof of the cavern; and, resting them in an upright
position--so that the drops might fall upon, and trickle along the
barrels--they there left them, and returned to the fire.

This was instantly put out--all excepting a slight spark or two to
assist in rekindling it.  It was a wise precaution, for they knew they
would have a long while to wait for the cooling of the candles, and they
designed making at least another cast, before attempting to stir from
the spot.  On examining their stock of fuel, they saw that it would be
sufficient to melt the tallow for another pair--they had string enough
for wicks--and of the grease the great carcass afforded them an
abundance.

You will wonder why the barrel of Karl's gun was not also brought into
requisition.  That is easily explained.  Karl's piece was a rifle, and
on account of the grooves inside would not have served at all for such a
purpose.  Had they attempted to mould a candle in it, the candle could
not have been drawn out, and they would only have wasted their labour.
This they knew, and therefore did not make the attempt.

During the interval they employed themselves in "flaxing out" the
remainder of the hempen cord, and preparing it for wicks.  They also
enjoyed a meal of the bear's-meat--this time properly cooked--for during
the continuance of the little fire, they had taken the opportunity to
broil themselves a steak or two; and after eating this, they felt in
much better case to continue their labours.

They waited patiently until the time came round for drawing the candles.
It was a good long while, but the time arrived at length, when the
barrels became cold as ice, and the tallow inside appeared to be frozen
as hard.

The fire was now rekindled--the iron moulds were slightly heated in the
blaze; and then the pull was given, slow and steady.  A shout of joy
hailed the appearance of the long white cylinder as it came softly
gliding from the muzzle, until full three feet of a beautiful candle
were revealed to the eyes of the delighted trio.  The second "draw"
succeeded equally well; and a brace of huge candles, each as big as
three "sixes," were now completely moulded and ready to be lit.

A trial was immediately made, when it was found that both burned
beautifully.

After a short while, another brace was added; and they had now at their
command light enough to last them for a period of nearly a hundred
hours!  They could still have moulded more candles--for neither their
fat nor their fuel was exhausted--but surely they had enough?  Surely in
a hundred hours they would look upon a far lovelier light--the light of
the glorious sun?

And they did so in far less time--in less than the twentieth part of a
hundred hours, they gazed upon the orb of day.

I shall not detail their wanderings backward and forward, upward and
downward, through the vaulted galleries of that stupendous cavern!
Suffice it to say, that the bright spot indicating the entrance at
length flashed before their eyes like a meteor; and dropping the candles
from their fingers they rushed forth, and once more gazed with delighted
eyes upon the shining face of heaven!



CHAPTER SIXTY FOUR.

CONCLUSION.

You will imagine that after such a perilous adventure in the great cave,
they would never again set foot within its gloomy precincts.  Neither
would they, had any mode of escaping from their other prison--the valley
itself--been offered.  But they could think of none, and there still
lingered in their mind some slight hopes that one or other of the many
passages of the cave might lead through the mountains, or have an
opening at the top of the cliffs.

Slight as were the grounds for hope, they could not give them up until
they should satisfy themselves by a complete, and thorough exploration;
and for more than a week after their adventure, they employed themselves
in making huge torches and moulding candles for this purpose.

A large quantity of both were at length prepared, and the exploration
commenced.

Day after day they entered the cavern--each day making an excursion that
lasted for several hours.  Day by day they continued their fruitless
search--fruitless, since no outlet could be found.

But it was not till after weeks thus spent--till after they had
traversed every vault of that stupendous cavern, and traced every
passage to its termination in the rocks, that they resigned all hope,
and gave up in despair.

When the last day's search was ended, and they had emerged from the
cave, never to enter it again, all three might have been seen seated
upon the rocks near its mouth, in attitudes and with looks that
betokened a deep and hopeless despair.

For a long time they sat in silence.  The same thought was in the minds
of all--the one painful thought, that they were hopelessly cut off from
all communication with the world, and would never again look on human
faces save their own!

Caspar was the first to break silence.

"Oh!" groaned he, "it is an awful fate--an awful fate--here must we
live--here must we die--far away from home--from the world--alone,
alone, oh!"

"Not alone, Caspar," replied Karl, making an effort to look
cheerful,--"not alone, for God is with us.  From this time forth let us
strive to forget the world, and make Him our companion.  _Let God be our
world_!"

THE END.





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