Pelts 



like a sledge-hammer against his chest, and his 

 very breathing appears to him now, in the intense 

 silence, to be like the rushing of a mighty breeze 

 from his lips. Now the tiger has moved forward 

 again. Soon, very soon, he will be broadside 

 on, an easy shot, if one's too palpitating nerves 

 and muscles will but keep still for an instant. 



Just before the psychological moment, ' stripes ' 

 stops dead as if turned to stone. An instant 

 of mad fright on our part and he turns, and with 

 a ' woof, woof,' in a few bounds is lost to sight in 

 the jungle. 



What has happened, we ask ourselves in frenzy ! 

 Surely he can't have gone for good ! 



Who knows ! He saw or smelt something, or 

 that sixth sense warned him of peril just as we 

 were counting him ours and he has gone. We 

 may as well go too, if we have sense. If we are a 

 tyro we shall sit out long hours in a hopeless wait. 



Have you ever accidentally come across a tiger 

 on the prowl in his native jungles without his 

 being aware of your presence ? This good fortune 

 befell me recently, and my memory retains a 

 most vivid recollection of the scene. 



I went out one evening for a stroll soon after 

 my arrival at a small forest rest-house in the 

 Central Provinces. I had never been in this 

 particular part of the country, and my object was 

 as much to learn something about my neighbour- 

 hood as anything else. 



245 



