“Did you get any hunting?”

“Yes, at my uncle’s place near Desford in Leicestershire.  He gave me some shooting, too.  It was all very well; but I was very envious when the regiment came here and you wrote and told me of the pigsticking you were getting.  I’ve always longed for it.  It’s great sport, isn’t it?”

“The best I know,” cried Raymond enthusiastically.  “Beats hunting hollow.  You’re not following a wretched little animal that runs for its life, but a game brute that will turn on you as like as not and make you fight for yours.”

“It must be ripping.  I do hope we’ll have the luck to find plenty of pig to-day.”

“Oh, we’re sure to.  The Maharajah told me yesterday they have marked down a sounder—­that is, a herd—­of wild pig in a nullah about seven miles the other side of the city, which is two miles away, so we have a ride of nine to the meet.”

“That will make it a very hard day for our ponies, won’t it?” asked Wargrave anxiously.  “Eighteen miles there and back and the runs as well.”

“Oh, that’s all right.  The Maharajah mounts us at the meet.  We’ll find his horses waiting there for us.  Rawboned beasts with mouths like iron, as a rule; but good goers and staunch to pig.”

“By Jove!  The Maharajah must be a real good chap.”

“One of the best,” replied Raymond.  “He is a man for whom I’ve the greatest admiration.  He rules his State admirably.  He commanded his own Imperial Service regiment in the war and did splendidly.  He is very good to us here.”

“So it seems.  From what I gathered at Mess last night he appears to provide all our sport for us.”

“Yes; he arranges his shoots and the pigsticking meets for days on which the officers of the regiment are free to go out with him.  When we can travel by road he sends his carriages for us, lends us horses and has camels to follow us with lunch, ice and drinks wherever we go.”

“What a good fellow he must be!” exclaimed Wargrave.  “I am glad we get pigsticking here.  I’ve always longed for it, but never have been anywhere before where there was any, as you know.”

“It’s lucky for us that the sport here is good; for without it life in Rohar would be too awful to contemplate.  It’s the last place the Lord made.”

“It’s the hardest place to reach I’ve ever known,” said Wargrave.  “It was a shock to learn that, after forty-eight hours in the train, I had two more days to travel after leaving the railway.”

“How did you like that forty miles in a camel train over the salt desert?  That made you sit up a bit, eh?”

“It was awful.  The heat and the glare off the sand nearly killed me.  You say there is no society here?”

“Society?  The only Europeans here or in the whole State, besides those of us in the regiment, are the Resident and his wife.”

“What is a Resident, exactly?”

“A Political Officer appointed by the Government of India to be a sort of adviser to a rajah and to keep a check on him if he rules his State badly.  I shouldn’t imagine that our fellow here, Major Norton, would be much good as an adviser to anybody.  The only thing he seems to know anything about is insects.  He’s quite a famous entomologist.  Personally he’s not a bad sort, but a bit of a bore.”