MY FIRST TIGER. 23 



to my breakfast. Thinking it a pity to waste any of 

 my short time at Sendra, I was ready again before 

 half-past three, and went off to the south of the rail- 

 way line. When we arrived at the hut of my 

 acquaintance of the previous day, the owner of the 

 pony, I sent for him. In answer to my inquiry if he 

 did not know where the sambur that devastated his 

 crops were to be found, he offered to show me a bit of 

 jungle they often used. We started off. 



Just before we reached the place, my guide and my 

 shikari had got into an interesting discussion, probably 

 on the price of grain, the usual subject of peasants' 

 conversation in India. 



" Chooprao " (shut up), I said, but it was too late. 

 I heard a crash in the bushes, and, though with but 

 little hope, ran on to where I noticed they were 

 clearer, just in time to see a sambur stag bound out. 

 I fired, and the stag dropped, It was a regular fluke, 

 as he was shot through the back of the neck. He 

 was a fine stag, and we soon had him gralloched. 

 Meanwhile my old friend the pony had been fetched, 

 and securing my quarry on his back, we returned to 

 the dawk bungalow. 



Dinner over, I felt quite ready for a sleep in the 

 train when it arrived at a quarter past nine. But, 

 greatly to my disgust, I found it was a local train, 

 third class only. I promptly had an end compartment 

 of a long carriage cleared out for myself and servants, 

 but sleep was impossible, owing both to the dis- 

 comfort of the carriage and the chatter of the natives 

 in the other compartments. 



