250 
A NATURALIST ON THE PROWL. 
direction, while gigantic mango and tamarind trees throw 
a gloomy shade over the whole. It was simply insanity 
to attempt to beat for a dangerous beast in such a place, 
and we must have been infatuated to think of it. Surely it 
was a case of quem dei perdere volunt priusquam dement ant, 
if ever there was one. 
As I have said, both our shikaimees were dpposed to the 
plan, but when we insisted on it, they carried out our wishes 
loyally. They were two of the most remarkable men whom 
it has been my lot to meet, and very unlike each other. 
Tajoob Khan, my friend’s lieutenant, was a large-boned, 
tall man of black complexion, with small beard parted in 
the middle, silent, cool and self-contained, almost phlegmatic 
until danger kindled him. He was dressed in a green 
shikar suit and wore in his belt a dearly beloved hunting 
knife, with which he had once saved his master’s life and 
killed a tiger, burying it to the hilt in the brute’s heart. 
His grateful master had the trusty blade fitted with a new, 
richly chased handle, bearing an inscription in Arabic 
characters to commemorate the event ; and Tajoob Khan 
will never part with that weapon till he parts with life. 
My man, Banawat Beg, was fair-skinned, small and spare, 
but supple as a cat. He was dressed in a suit of plain 
