56 RIFLE AND ROMANCE 



died away, and even the monotonous " Kottiru koturu 

 koturu " of the tireless green barbet had ceased to echo 

 abroad. 



At this hushed hour the tiger, descending the hillside, 

 had arrived at the edge of the steep bank overlooking 

 Muingpati. 



Later on the previous evening he had come down as 

 usual to drink and wander in search of food ; and it was 

 here that he had found a little Ma gazing blankly at him 

 once more. It may have been that he had become forget- 

 ful, or that his suspicions had been lulled by the absolute 

 solitude of that lonely spot ; or he may have confused 

 the little beast with a small herd of sambar that had 

 stampeded before him in the dark across the pebbly river- 

 bed. At any rate, he had slain the hela. It had been 

 tethered to a heavy flood-borne log lying in the bed 

 of the stream, and with difficulty transporting both victim 

 and log, he had dragged his prey close to the little pool. 

 Now the long day's siesta had passed, and he had returned 

 hither from his distant retreat, drawn by returning appe- 

 tite to the remains of his " kill." He must have known 

 that he had left the carcase in the open, exposed to the 

 vultures ; yet, at variance with his usual habits, he sought 

 it again. Perhaps the thirst engendered by that heavy 

 meal of hot flesh may have persuaded him. Even tigers 

 make mistakes. 



A tiger ordinarily divides his meal into two portions, 

 and consumes them on consecutive nights. He very 

 rarely feeds by day, or even by daylight, save in ex- 

 ceptional circumstances. Since he nearly always kills 

 during the night, he has sufficient time to make a good 

 meal on the spot; and on the approach of dawn he 

 usually conceals the remains, drinks if possible, and 

 retires to such a distance as local requirements dictate, 

 where he digests his meal in sleep throughout the day. 

 Next evening he returns or intends to return to make 



