I have so frequently given the
people elk and hogs which I have killed on the heights above
their paddy-fields that they are always on the alert at the sound
of the bugle, and a few blasts from the mountain-top immediately
creates a race up from the villages, some two or three thousand
feet below. Like vultures scenting carrion, they know that an
elk is killed, and they start off to the well-known sound like a
pack of trained hounds. Being thorough mountaineers, they are
extraordinary fellows for climbing the steep grassy sides. With
a light stick about six feet long in one hand, they will start
from the base of the mountains and clamber up the hillsides in a
surprisingly short space of time, such as would soon take the
conceit out of a "would-be pedestrian." This is owing to the
natural advantages of naked feet and no inexpressibles.
Whenever an elk has given a long run in the direction of this
country, and after a persevering and arduous chase of many hours,
I have at length killed him on the grassy heights above the
villages, I always take a delight in watching the tiny specks
issuing from the green strips of paddy as the natives start off
at the sound of the horn.
At this altitude, it requires a sharp eye to discern a man, but
at length they are seen scrambling up the ravines and gullies and
breasting the sharp pitches, until at last the first man arrives
thoroughly used up and a string of fellows of lesser wind come
in, in sections, all thoroughly blown.
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