ipes before you, the all-absorbing eager excitement
of a lifetime is packed in a few brief moments. Not a chance should be
thrown away, a long, or even an uncertain shot, is better than none,
and if you make one miss, you may not have another chance again that
day: for the tiger is chary of showing his stripes, and thinks
discretion the better part of valour.

All the line of course are aware, as a rule, when a tiger is on the
move, and a good captain (and Joe S., who generally took the direction
of our beats, could not well be matched) will wheel the line, double,
turn, march, and countermarch, and fairly run the tiger down. At such
a time, although you may not actually see the tiger, the excitement is
tremendous. You stand erect in the howdah, your favourite gun ready;
your attendant behind is as excited as yourself, and sways from side
to side to peer into the gloomy depths of the jungle; in front, the
mahout wriggles on his seat, as if by his motion he could urge the
elephant to a quicker advance. He digs his toes savagely into his
elephant behind the ear; the line is closing up; every eye is fixed on
the moving jungle ahead. The roaring of the flames behind, and the
crashing of the dried reeds as the elephants force their ponderous
frames through the intertwisted stems and foliage, are the only sounds
that greet the ear. Suddenly you see the tawny yellow hide, as the
tiger slouches along. Your gun rings out a reverberating challenge, as
your fatal bullet speeds on its errand. To right and left the echoes
ring, as shot after shot is fired at the bounding robber. Then the
line closes up, and you form a circle round the stricken beast, and
watch his mighty limbs quiver in the death-agony, and as he falls over
dead, and powerless for further harm, you raise the heartfelt,
pulse-stirring cheer, that finds an echo in every brother sportman's
heart.

Disputes sometimes arise as to whose bullet first drew blood. These
are settled by the captain, and from his decision there is no appeal.
Many sportsmen put peculiar marks on their bullets, by which they can
be recognised, which is a good plan. In an exciting scrimmage every
one blazes at the tiger, not one bullet perhaps in five or six takes
effect, and every one is ready to claim the skin, as having been
pierced with his particular bullet. Disputes are not very common, but
an inspection of the wounds, and the bullets found in the body,
generally settle the question. After