he kept on repeating that assurance to himself, with the
air of a man who would like to be assured, but is not, while he
ostentatiously found fault with every single thing on which his eyes
lit.

"One would think that the Risaldar-sahib were afraid of consequences!"
whispered the youngest of his followers, stung to the quick by a quite
unmerited rebuke. "Does he fear that Chota-Cunnigan will beat him?"

White men have been known--often--to do stupider things than that,
and particularly young white men who have not yet learned to gauge
proportions accurately; so there was nothing really ridiculous in the
suggestion. A young white man who has had his temper worked up to
the boiling-point, his nerves deliberately racked, and then has been
subjected to the visit of a driven tiger, may be confidently expected to
exhibit all the faults of which his character is capable.

To make the situation even more ticklish, Cunningham's servant, in
his zeal for his master's comfort, had forgotten to sham sickness, and
instead of limping was in abominably active evidence. He was even doing
more than was expected of him. Ralph Cunningham had said nothing to
him--had not needed to; every single thing that a pampered sahib could
imagine that he needed was done for him in the proper order, without
noise or awkwardness, and the Risaldar cursed as he watched the
clockwork-perfect service. He had hoped for a lapse that might call
forth some pointer, either by way of irritation or amusement, as to how
young Cunningham was taking things.

But not a thing went wrong and not a sign of any sort gave Cunningham.
The youngster did not smile either to himself darkly or at his servant.
He lit his after-breakfast cigar and smoked it peacefully, as though he
had spent an absolutely normal night, without even a dream to worry him,
and if he eyed Mahommed Gunga at all, he did it so naturally, and with
so little interest, that no deductions could be drawn from it. He was
neither more nor less than a sahib at his ease--which was disconcerting,
very, to the Oriental mind.

He smoked the cigar to a finish, without a word or sign that he wished
to give audience. Then his eyes lit for the first time on the tiger-skin
that was pegged out tight, raw side upward, for the sun to sterilize;
he threw the butt of his cigar away and strolled out to examine the skin
without a sign to Mahommed Gunga, counted the claws one by one to
make sure that no superstitious nativ