THE BIOGRAPHY OF A TIGER 59 



Across the river something creaked gently in a tree, 

 with the faint sound of wood on wood. 



The tiger swiftly raised his yellow orbs and stared. 

 Then the mungoose began to rustle in the leaves again, 

 and he turned his head slowly in that direction. Anon 

 his gaze returned to the watercourse before him. 



Circumspect, watchful, alert for all his heavy looks 

 he sat there and contemplatively waited a shadowy, 

 round, be-whiskered countenance, pale chest-front, and one 

 indistinctly huge shoulder. 



Darkness was rapidly closing in. What waning moon 

 there was would not rise till close on midnight. Yet he 

 made no sign of moving ! 



High up the sides of the sunken valley the night breeze 

 began to sough desolately in the leafless teak forests. 

 The sunset glow had now faded into a luminous hyales- 

 cence that reflected its last pale twilight over the jungle, 

 and the eerie cry of the great horned owl thrilled quiver- 

 ingly from the gloomy trees beyond the pool 



" Ku-whirr-ir-r-oo \ Ku-wkirr-ir-r-oo ! " 



The distant breeze had slowly died away, and there was 

 not a breath of air. Across the dark blue zenith a hawk- 

 bat could be heard whirling swiftly with a flutter of 

 winnowing wings. In the dim watercourse the faint 

 " sip . . . zip . . . zip " of crickets emphasised the feeling 

 of empty desertion and solitude. 



All this time the grisly watcher under the trees had sat 

 motionless, but now, at last, a shadowy bulk was creeping 

 from the bank on to the sloping rocks. 



In the stillness there came a tiny metallic sound a 

 kind of soft click. 



The creeping shadow stopped. A pair of baleful, 

 greenish, shining eyes were fixed inquiringly on a tree 

 across the belt of dry shingle. 



Suddenly a flash of red sparks cracked out stunningly. 

 Bang ! wough-h wough / . . . 



