THE TRAIL OP THE TIGER 303 



growling and a heart-stopping, short, coughing 

 roar. It was the first time I had heard it— and 

 I freely confess— it well-nigh froze my blood. I 

 knew it was a tiger ; I could plainly hear it coming ; 

 and as the jerky roar grew nearer and nearer, I 

 stood there having sensations— I do assure you. 

 But I stood, for I realized how useless would be 

 an attempt to escape by running; I thought I 

 would have a better chance for my life if I faced 

 the music. 



With my rifle raised and at full cock I stood 

 waiting, waiting, and just at the instant I expected 

 the terrifying thing to burst upon me from out the 

 jungle that nerve-racking roar ceased, and was fol- 

 lowed by stillness quite as dreadful, for I did not 

 know what it might not portend. I pictured the 

 tiger stalking noiselessly around me, looking for 

 the best place from which to make his final rush. 

 The day wasn't so hot, but the perspiration rolled 

 from me pretty freely just about that time. Then 

 at last came the relief of a noise which seemed 

 going from me. It sounded as though the tiger 

 was retreating. And that is precisely what he was 

 doing. He went out on the unguarded side of the 

 cover— out of my life forever, so far as I know, 

 but not without having made a deep impression 

 upon me ; to this day I can hear that tiger coming. 

 Sitting up " on a platform for tiger with a 



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