tion. 'I know you are a
busy man,' he repeated, 'but if you could spare the time, and would join
me, we should have a rare old time. Start next Friday, and be at
Malabad, where I shall meet you, on Monday. Bring as many cartridges as
you can lay hands upon, for we shall have plenty of snipe and partridge,
whether we come across big game or no.' Charlie then gave me a list of
the dak bungalows at which he might be found at certain dates, in case
I should not be able to start upon the day indicated. I meant to start
on the Friday as he had suggested, but some of our native workmen went
wrong--there was a kind of little mutiny--and I was delayed nearly a
week, assisting my partner to arrange matters. When this had been
satisfactorily settled, I collected my sporting traps and started,
making for the bungalow at which Charlie had intended to put up on the
sixth day of his trip.

When I reached my destination, which was a dak bungalow, or little house
built by the Government for the accommodation of Britishers travelling
by road between towns which are too far apart to be reached within the
day's journey, I found Charlie Eccles was not yet at home. The two
servants left in charge at the bungalow reported that he had gone
tiger-hunting, a 'bad' tiger having been reported in the district, by
which was meant a man-eater--a beast which had killed and eaten a native
postman and others, and which Charlie, on his arrival, had been implored
to destroy.

The native shikaris or hunters were absent with my friend, I therefore
did the best thing possible under the circumstances--I ordered my lunch,
and sat down to enjoy it.

It was very hot, and I think I had fallen asleep over the cup of coffee
which the servant set before me after my meal, when I was awakened by a
sudden uproar from outside, and, starting up, I went out to see what was
happening. Down the road I saw several straggling natives--every one of
them was running, and every one of them was shouting or crying or
blubbering, or what not.

I walked towards them; as yet I had not thought of possible disaster. I
met the first man, apparently a beater, for he carried a kind of native
drum for striking in the jungle when the tiger is to be moved, and set
afoot for the benefit of the sportsman. 'What is the matter?' I asked
him. 'What are you and these other fellows howling for?'

The man salaamed, and assumed an expression of the greatest misery. 'The
sahib!' he exclaimed; 't