How he curses his short-sighted temerity.  With one long howl of utter dismay and deadly fear, he manages to get away from the pack, leaving my little doggies to come proudly round my horse with their mouths full of fur, and each of their little tails as stiff as an iron ramrod.

That ‘Pincher,’ in some respects, was a very fiend incarnate.  There was no keeping him in.  He was constantly getting into hot water himself, and leading the pack into all sorts of mischief.  He was as bold as brass and as courageous as a lion.  He stole food, worried sheep and goats, and was never out of a scrape.  I tried thrashing him, tying him up, half starving him, but all to no purpose.  He would be into every hut in a village whenever he had the chance, overturning brass pots, eating up rice and curries, and throwing the poor villager’s household into dismay and confusion.  He would never leave a cat if he once saw it.  I’ve seen him scramble through the roofs of more than one hut, and oust the cat from its fancied stronghold.

I put him into an indigo vat with a big dog jackal once, and he whipped the jackal single-handed.  He did not kill it, but he worried it till the jackal shammed dead and would not ‘come to the scratch.’  ‘Pincher’s’ ears were perfect shreds, and his scars were as numerous almost as his hairs.  My gallant ‘Pincher!’ His was a sad end.  He got eaten up by an alligator in the ‘Dhans,’ a sluggish stream in Bhaugulpore.  I had all my pack in the boat with me, the stream was swollen and full of weeds.  A jackal gave tongue on the bank, and ‘Pincher’ bounded over the side of the boat at once.  I tried to ‘grab’ him, and nearly upset the boat in doing so.  Our boat was going rapidly down stream, and ‘Pincher’ tried to get ashore but got among the weeds.  He gave a bark, poor gallant little dog, for help, but just then we saw a dark square snout shoot athwart the stream.  A half-smothered sobbing cry from ‘Pincher,’ and the bravest little dog I ever possessed was gone for ever.

There is another breed of large, strong-limbed, big-boned dogs, called Rampore hounds.  They are a cross breed from the original upcountry dog and the Persian greyhound.  Some call them the Indian greyhound.  They seem to be bred principally in the Rampore-Bareilly district, but one or more are generally to be found in every planter’s pack.  They are fast and strong enough, but I have often found them bad at tackling, and they are too fond of their keeper ever to make an affectionate faithful dog to the European.

Another somewhat similar breed is the Tazi.  This, although not so large a dog as the Rhamporee, is a much pluckier animal, and when well trained will tackle a jackal with the utmost determination.  He has a wrinkled almost hairless skin, but a very uncertain temper, and he is not very amenable to discipline. Tazi is simply the Persian word for a greyhound, and refers to no particular breed.  The common