168 RIFLE AND ROMANCE 



when I had such chances of observing unsuspicious wild 

 creatures. 



I was lying back on the bed of boughs, grass, comfort- 

 able rug and cushion, when a long, cold, trailing thing 

 passed over my hand, and away from under my hips, leav- 

 ing the hairs of my head in a state of electric separation. 

 When the slight rustling had receded well into some rocks, 

 I again drew breath, and quickly removed my haversack 

 of cold roast fowl and other delicacies to another spot. 

 Whether of a deadly species or not, I object to snakes 

 hunting for murghi in my pockets ! 



It was now well past 2 a.m., and I felt drowsy, espe- 

 cially as the tuneful breathing of my faithless disciple 

 sounded like a lullaby in my ears. 



Perhaps an hour or so had passed in this borderland of 

 dreams, when a sound struck on my ears that instantly 

 roused us both ; it was the sudden, sharp, rending, trumpet 

 sound of a sambar's bell. "Dhdnk!" There it came again, 

 from up the glen, and continued at intervals, apparently 

 retreating slowly for some minutes, when all was again 

 quiet ; then another bark, louder and much nearer, and 

 the crashing of leaves and jungle, as the sambar apparently 

 moved rapidly uphill. 



Pulses beat quicker now in keen anticipation, for this 

 kind of thing has but one meaning. 



Two figures, dark and stiff, peered over the lip of the 

 rock, the glint of moonlight on a double-barrelled '577. 

 There came the deepest of guttural sighs from the big 

 black boulder under the far clump of bamboo. 



The moon shone on, and the watch ticked loudly in my 

 pocket, and we waited weary work, with all senses at 

 highest pressure. 



Five minutes must have passed thus. 



Ah ! a stone turned then and now the moon's rays 

 fall on the white face and chest of a tiger as he moves out 

 of the blackness and comes gently forward ; a rather 



