One day the fellow who always carried my spare gun or flask, and who was a sort of shikaree in a small way, told me he had heard that a farmer whose house stood near the edge of the Ghauts, some two miles away, had been seriously annoyed by his fruit and corn being stolen by bears.
"' I'll go and have a look at the place tomorrow,' I said; 'there is no parade, and I can start early.

You may as well tell the mess cook to put up a basket with some tiffin and a bottle of claret, and get a boy to carry it over.' "'The bears not come in day,' Rahman said.
"'Of course not,' I replied; 'still I may like to find out which way they come.

Just do as you are told.' "The next morning, at seven o'clock, I was at the farmer's spoken of, and there was no mistake as to the bears.

A patch of Indian corn had been ruined by them, and two dogs had been killed.

The native was in a terrible state of rage and alarm.