XII 

 ANGLING FOR TIGERS 



1888 



HERE comes old " Cooch-ne," * says A. fretfully, as he sits 

 lazily smoking in complete toilette-de-lit one early morning 

 in our shooting camp in India. Old Cooch-ne was one of our 

 shikaries, and had well earned his sobriquet ; being a man 01 

 few words, his early report about the tigers was always made in 

 those two short, but to us most expressive, monosyllables ; and 

 this had now happened on twenty-one mornings out of twenty- 

 three of jungle life. We were told that no tiger had taken our 

 bullocks, and frequently also that there were no "margs," 

 Sahib ! Our patience had long since given way, and no wonder, 

 for no kill meant not only no beat that day, but a lazy, more or 

 less sleepy, and certainly most monotonous existence in our 

 tents, with books which we had already read over and over 

 again. No wonder, then, that we had long ago lost our tempers, 

 and received the shikaries with derisive shouts as they made the 

 usual report morning after morning. The much-praised Job 

 may have been, and no doubt was, a very patient individual, but 

 even he would under these circumstances have used strong 

 language, when, leave running short, all hope of a tiger had 

 again that day been dashed to the ground with this exasperating 

 Cooch-ne report on the sixteenth consecutive morning ! It 

 upset our livers and tempers, at all events it did mine, and we 

 were angry with everything. The trip had promised so well, 

 thanks to friends who had chosen the best country and engaged 

 the best shikaries for our party. The knowledge that we had 

 all these advantages made us doubly angry that those annoying 



* Nothing. 



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