124 SIR VICTOR BROOKE CHAP. 



was the thing then which had stolen my ibex. 

 Quickly sitting down, F. and I threw off our boots, and 

 slipping on a green skullcap, set to work to stalk him. 

 Stalking a stag is one thing, but stalking a tiger is 

 quite another. With the most painful care we crept 

 along nearer and nearer we got, 60 yards 50 yards 

 soon I could fire. No small control does it take to 

 keep perfectly cool in such moments ; but if a man 

 cannot keep his head, he must not attempt to creep 

 upon a sleeping tiger. A small rock about 4 feet 

 high offered a rest from which to fire. It was only 25 

 yards from the immense beast, but I determined to get 

 to it. So, keeping my eyes off the tiger, in case of 

 getting excited, I glided softly to the rock. Dear old 

 Francis would follow me ; his honest dark face wearing 

 a look of the most deep anxiety (I had sent the Lascar 

 back to the top for my second rifle). Making Francis 

 hide behind the rock, I cautiously peeped over. Ye 

 gods ! what a monster he looked ! Now that I was 

 really in for it, that calm, perfectly quiet feeling came 

 over my nerves that I have once or twice tried to 

 explain. You would hardly believe such an excitable 

 being could be so collected (I only mention this that 

 you need feel no anxiety about me losing presence of 

 mind, and thus falling into really unnecessary danger). 

 He was, I saw, an enormous tiger, and as I looked at 

 the dear old weapon, I wondered if he would fail me in 

 such a pinch. Not a bit of it ; I felt firm confidence 

 in my own shooting and the dear old rifle. Putting 

 my face down for a moment, I collected all my 

 thoughts, and cooled any little excitement the sight of 

 the huge beast might have caused. Feeling all square, 

 I put myself in position to fire, and was just going to 

 utter a soft whistle to make him put up his head (which 

 was lying on the ground), and offer a deadly shot, 



