2 DAYS AND NIGHTS OF SHIKAR 



Some weeks afterwards, when we were packing 

 up to leave the hill, a friend put us up for the night. 

 My husband and I chained up our dog, Banjo, a fat, 

 smiling thing who called himself a terrier, to the 

 heavy zinc tub in the bathroom and closed the out- 

 side door. In the morning he was gone. We found 

 the chain broken and the door ajar. The panther 

 must have pushed his way in. As we were leaving 

 for Deesa that day, we could not try for our revenge. 

 But a friend next door tied up a goat that evening 

 and went out to dine. When he returned late at 

 night, the goat had just been killed, and he saw the 

 panther glide away. He sat up for a few minutes 

 watching, from his window, when back came the 

 animal for his feed, and we were delighted to hear 

 afterwards that he was slain. 



I wasted many more good nights, that I might 

 have spent better in sleep, in vain attempts. I did 

 manage to shoot one tiger in a beat. He came slowly, 

 creeping on, dragging himself along the ground 

 and trying to look as if he were not there. I was 

 up in a machan and, as I put up my rifle and shifted 

 my position, a branch of the tree caught my big pith 

 helmet and knocked it off my head. It went 

 rattling down with a clatter among the dry leaves. 

 The tiger stopped and looked and then glanced up 

 and saw me. His stopping gave me a good chance 

 of a shot. He rolled over, got up, and only went a 

 few yards further, when he died. I was with my 

 brother, Herbert, and he had very nobly, I think, 

 given me the shot. 



This was very nice, but I did not feel the joy of 



