Pelts 



I leant over, and as soon as my eyes got accus- 

 tomed to the darkness, there below me I made out 

 the faint, indistinct outline of something lying over 

 a portion of the kill. I nudged my companion. 

 He peered down, looked at me, and peered down 

 again. I was getting excited. I felt sure the tiger 

 was below. There was moon enough now to get a 

 good sight of him just below us. Not remembering 

 my companion's short-sightedness, I could not 

 make out what on earth he was about. Again I 

 nudged him, and put my finger on his rifle. He 

 shook his head. By moving my rifle a few feet I 

 could have got a dead sight on that indistinct 

 shape. But it was not my shot. A few seconds, 

 during which I felt the atmosphere becoming 

 sultry, for I was in a royal rage, and then a 

 couple of soft rustlings in the bushes and dead 

 silence. Whatever it was had gone. Half an 

 hour passed — an hour — and then a rifle-shot, 

 clean and sharp, clove the air. Silence, and then 

 another shot, and all was still. Half an hour — an 

 hour — ^passed, and then the silence of the forest 

 was broken by a sharp whistle. It was the signal 

 for the elephants. 



Soon the sagacious beasts came slowly up, and 

 we slipped on to the pad from the machan. My 

 friend had appeased my wrath at his not firing 

 by saying that he could make out nothing at all 

 on the kill, and yet an inspection showed that 

 the tiger had been there. None of the three othej 



25s 



