Pelts 



side as the great animals advance, crackling and 

 swishing through the long and reedy jungle, 

 whilst the khaki-clad occupants, rifle in hand, 

 peer down into the yellow leafy wall, striving to 

 pierce the jungle's depths as it bends and dips 

 before the great black masses driving through it. 

 Nearer they come, and still no sign ! Can the 

 tiger or tigers, for there may be more than one 

 in the beat, have broken back ? 



The grass patch thins out here to a narrow 

 strip. One of the occupants of the advancing 

 howdahs sings out that one tiger is certainly 

 in the grass, and yet now scarcely 20 yards 

 separate one from the advancing line. At the 

 point where the grass ends a second howdah 

 and rifle is posted, whilst on the opposite side 

 to myself is a third rifle. The elephants stand 

 like bronze-black statues, trunks curled up in 

 safety, ears forward, but not a quiver. The 

 mahout's eyes roll swiftly from side to side. 

 ' Where is the skulking shaitan (devil) ? ' he 

 mutters. Nearer comes the line. One is positively 

 tingling with excitement, but not a movement or 

 rustle in the grass is to be seen, and the line is but 

 ten yards away. Suddenly an uproar to my left 

 front. Two elephants swerve outwards, trumpet- 

 ing shrilly amidst the execrations of their own 

 and the neighbouring mahouts ! For a moment 

 grass, elephants, and men appear to be in a wild 

 turmoil. Ah ! the line is broken ! Though the 



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