The air
of the pit seemed charged with furious power that whipped the leaves to
shreds.

"The pistol, Skag--"

They were free, so far, from the rending claws. The younger man's
brain was full of light. Cadman Sahib's voice had never been more calm.

Skag drew a match, not the gun. He scratched the match and held it
high in front. They saw the great cowering creature like a fallen pony
in size--but untellably more vivid in line--the chest not more than
seven feet from them, the head held far back, the near front paw lifted
against them as if to parry a blow.

Skag changed the match from his right hand to his left. When the flame
burned low, he tossed it on the ground, half way between them and the
tiger. There was a forward movement of the beast's spine--a little
lower and forward. The lifted paw curved in, but did not touch the
ground. The last light of the match, as it turned red, seemed bright
in the beast's bared mouth. In it all there was the dramatic reality
of a dream that questions not.

"He's badly frightened," Skag said.

No sound from Cadman Sahib.

"It's too big for him," Skag went on calmly. "He thinks we put over
the whole thing on him. It's too big for him to tackle. Wonder if
he's got a mate?"

One big green eye burned now in the pit--steady as a beacon and turned
to them, enfolding them. Cadman Sahib cleared his throat.

"All right to talk?" he asked huskily.

"Sure. It will help--"

He cleared his throat again and inquired in an enticing tone: "You
actually don't mean to use the pistol?"

"I'm not a crack-shot," Skag said queerly.

"You might pass it to me. I'm supposed to be--"

"It is bad light."

"And then again, you might not," Cadman laughed softly. "I've got you,
son--"

"I will do as you say," Skag said steadily.

Cadman hiccoughed. "The eye moved," he explained. "There--it did it
again. I got a feeling as if an elevator dropped a flight. What were
you saying?"

"That I am here to take orders."

"I'm taking orders to-night, son. I wouldn't risk your good opinion by
shooting your guest--"

"He is perfect--not more than four or five years--got his full range,
but not his weight."

Skag stopped abruptly, until the other nudged him.

"Go on--it's like a bench-show--"

"We called them Bengalis--but that is just the trade-name--"

"You intimated he might have a lady-friend--do they hunt in couples?"

The boy didn't answer that. "You've never bee