The
Colonel (always an early bird) got away first, followed by our invalid in
his dandy, while Jane and I remained to hunt the loiterers out of camp. A
glorious morning, and the cheering knowledge that breakfast was in front
of us, sent us merrily along for a mile or two, until branching paths led
us to inquire of an intelligent Kashmiri, who appeared to be busily
engaged in reaping rice with a penknife, as to the road taken by our
precursors, especially the tiffin coolie!
The industrious one had seen no sahibs at all pass by. This was a blow,
and Jane and I sat down to review the situation. We finally decided that
the son of the soil was indulging in what the great and good Winston
Churchill has called a "terminological inexactitude," as the others must
have gone by one of the two roads; so, putting our fortunes to the touch,
we took the left-hand path, and were in due time rewarded by reaching
Sogul, and there finding our pioneers peacefully seated under a tree, and
breakfast ready.
Leaving Sogul, we skirted for some miles a bare ridge which rose on the
right, and which looked an ideal ground for chikor, and then turned into a
beautiful valley drained by the Pohru, now quite a small and insignificant
stream.
Drogmulla, our objective, lies about fourteen miles from Harwan, and the
forest house is a full mile beyond the village, at the end of a somewhat
steep and winding path.
A welcome sight was the snug rest-house, perched upon a hillock above a
fussy little stream and surrounded by a fine clump of deodars.
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