Jungle By-Ways in India 



were the very poetry of motion, and as he dis- 

 appeared into a nullah I sighed my disappoint- 

 ment. The baigahs were wild with excitement. 

 No thought of fear animated them. ' Shoot 

 him, shoot him, sahib ! ' they urged. ' He takes 

 our cattle weekly, the shaitan ! ' What did they 

 care for shooting rules and the unwritten code of 

 sportsmen ? In the old days the sahib shot, or 

 tried to shoot, a tiger on sight. Why not now ? 



We followed cautiously down the nullah. There 

 were his pugs as large as life and as fresh. ' What 

 luck ! What cursed luck ! ' I kept muttering 

 to myself. 



We never saw him again ! It was as well, 

 perhaps. Who knows what thoughts were simmer- 

 ing at the back of my brain ? 



I remember another occasion when I came near 

 to seeing another tiger in his native wilds. A 

 friend and myself were camped one May in a 

 large forest about 100 yards from a small stream. 

 We had been out bison-tracking all day, and had 

 got back to the tents just before sundown. 

 I had just got out of a hot tub when some pea- 

 fowl set up their 'paon, paon, paon' not far off. 'A 

 tiger somewhere about/ I thought, as I towelled 

 myself. I was partially dressed, when I suddenly 

 heard the most unearthly yell that has ever fallen 

 on my ears. Like unto nothing I knew was it, 

 and yet I never doubted for a moment but that it 

 came from a human voice. The camp was in an 



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