CONSERVATORS’ WORK 155 
eye on the jungle signs around her. She was miser- 
ably thin, and looked as if just recovered from a 
deadly disease or injury, so that the bullet that 
struck her behind the ear probably afforded a pain- 
less exit from a painful life; but though we could 
detect no external injury, we felt that such animals 
were dangerous to man, and should, when possible, 
be made away with. 
Across the river to Motipur is a short march, and 
here I met a friend of my youth in old Premgir, the 
“ shikéri,” now white-haired and bent, but still so 
keen that his eye brightened as he spoke of the old 
hunting days that we had had together. He told 
me that his chum, Moti, had been killed many years 
before, when beating out a tiger from a boggy 
stream that the elephants could not enter. The 
animal refused to go forward, probably because too 
much noise had been made in placing the guns, and 
lay skulking under some bushes in sight of the 
beaters, who wisely halted. Moti, with foolhardy 
recklessness, the result of many years’ successful hunt- 
ing, approached him with many injurious epithets, 
and, loosening the brass water-vessel that Hindus 
carry, attached to a long cord, for drawing water 
from wells, struck the tiger with it. In return he 
was viciously clawed over the head. He made light 
of his wounds, but they proved fatal a few days 
after. 
But what most amused the old man was the 
recollection of a stalk after a noble spotted-stag in 
an early May morning before the sun had dried up 
the moisture in the jungle, and when each leaf and 
blade of grass was still bespangled with dew, when 
