270 THE HIGHLANDS OF CENTEAL INDIA. 



of the tiger acknowledged the shot. I then went round a 

 quarter of a circle, but still the tiger remained motionless, 

 looking intently in the same direction. I marchecl up, rifle 

 on full cock, growing more and more amazed but the 

 tio-er never moved. Could he be dead ? I went round to 

 his rear and approached close up from that direction. He 

 never stirred. Then I made the elephant kick him, and he 

 fell over. He was stone dead converted, without the 

 movement of a hair, into a statue of himself by the bursting 

 of the large shell in his brain. It had struck him full in the 

 centre of the forehead. We then went on with the track of 

 the other. It led down into the Moran river, on the steep 

 bank of which there was a thick cover of Jaman bushes in 

 which the tiger was sure to stop. I had just before come 

 through it, and found the place as full of tracks as a rabbit 

 warren. Having a spare pad elephant out that day, I sent 

 her round to keep down the bottom of the bank and mark, 

 while I pushed my own elephant -Futteh Rani (Queen of 

 Victory) through the cover. About the centre I came on 

 the tiger, crouched like the other, with his massive head 

 rested on his forepaws, the drawn-up hind quarters and 

 slightly switching tail showing that he meant mischief. At 

 the first shot, which struck him on the point of the shoulder, 

 he bounded out at me ; but the left barrel caught him in the 

 back before he had come many yards and broke it, when he 

 rolled down right to the bottom of the bank, and fell, roaring 

 horribly, right between the fore legs of the pad elephant. 

 She was a new purchase for forest work, called Moti Mala or 

 " Pearl Necklace " (such are the fantastic names given to ele- 

 phants by their Mahomedan keepers), and quite untried ; but 

 she stood admirably this rather abrupt introduction to her 

 game, merely retreating a few steps and shaking her head at 



