y."

Presumably everybody knows that there is no such thing as a tiger on the
whole African continent--north, south, east, or west. What everybody,
however, may not know is that in the southern section of the same,
"tiger" is the colloquial word used to designate leopard, and that
invariably; hence, of course, the trapped beast in this case represented
not "Stripes" but "Spots."

"Well, well," said old Hesketh, when he was told, "that's good news
certainly. How was he caught, Kleinbooi?"

"By one fore leg, Baas. He seems fast, but it might be as well to go
and shoot him, now at once."

"_Ja_, that's so. Tell Dirk to saddle up three horses--it don't matter
which--what's that? Four?" turning to his niece, who had just joined
them. "Four, did you say, girlie?"

"Certainly," said Hazel. "I'm going too. I don't why I should be left
out of the fun."

The old man chuckled.

"All right," he said. Then ironically, "How long'll you take getting
ready? Half an hour?"

"Half a minute," she answered, withdrawing to change into a habit skirt,
and reappearing in not more than double the time named. Then they
started. "Get back, you _schelms_, get back!" vociferated old Hesketh,
whipping back the dogs, who, scenting sport, had sprung up, whining and
yowling with delight. "We don't want you to-day. They'd spoil the
skin, you know, if they started to worry it," he added in explanation to
Dick. "Besides, some of 'em are bound to get badly chawed. A trapped
tiger's no joke to anything that gets within reach of the brute. Clear
them out, Kleinbooi."

This the Fingo did with the aid of sticks and stones, and much forcible
expostulation, and the disappointed pack slunk back, to console itself
by getting up a civil war on its own account.

"Don't fire at anything on the way, Dick," enjoined Greenoak, as they
started. "No matter what gets up, let it go. Our catch might quite
possibly pull himself loose if he got a sudden _schrek_."

Dick nodded, and went on with his conversation with Hazel, by whose side
it is hardly necessary to explain he was riding. Old Hesketh was
shambling along on a correspondingly veteran steed, but he had no
firearm. It didn't require three men to shoot one trapped tiger, he had
declared, and he wasn't going to be bothered carrying unnecessary
articles. Greenoak on this occasion had his .500 Express, and Dick
Selmes his combination rifle and smooth-bore.

"I only wish the beast was