muscle and sinew was tense for the last rush and
leap, as the subaltern raised his gun.

CHAPTER IX

TIGER LAND

Wargrave fired. His shot struck the panther rather far back, wounding
but not disabling it. It swung round to face its assailant. Seeing Frank
it promptly charged. The second cartridge took it in front of the
shoulder and raked its body from end to end. Coughing blood the beast
rolled over and over, biting its paws, clawing savagely at the earth,
trying to rise and falling back in fury, while Frank rapidly reloaded
and stepped between it and the children. But the convulsions became
fewer and less violent, the limbs stiffened, the beautiful black and
yellow body sank inert to the ground. The tail twitched a little. A few
tremors shook the panther. Then it lay still.

The subaltern turned eagerly to the children.

"It's Frank. Look, Eileen, it's Frank," cried Brian. "He's killed the
nasty dog."

The little girl, who had sunk to the ground, struggled to her feet and
with her brother was swept up in a joyous embrace by the subaltern.
Then, bidding the boy hold on to the sleeve of the arm carrying the gun,
Wargrave started back with Eileen perched on his shoulder. As they
passed the panther's body she looked down at it and clapped her hands.

"He's deaded. Nasty, bad dog!" she cried.

Striking a path through the undergrowth the subaltern climbed down the
steep ravine that lay between the hill and the Political Officer's
bungalow. As he struggled up the steep side of the _nullah_ he heard
their mother calling the children with a note of inquietude in her
voice; and he answered her with a reassuring shout. Coming up on the
level behind the low stone wall of the garden he found Mrs. Dermot and
Muriel anxiously awaiting him.

"Mumsie! Hallo, Mumsie! Here's me. Fwank shooted bad dog," cried Eileen,
waving her arms and kicking her bearer violently in her excitement.

"Yes, Mumsie, Frank killded the nasty dog that wanted to eat us," added
Brian.

Wargrave passed the children over the wall into the anxious arms
outstretched for them, then vaulted into the garden.

"What has happened, Mr. Wargrave?" asked Mrs. Dermot, pressing her
children to her nervously. "What is this about your shooting a dog?"

The subaltern told the story briefly.

"Oh, my babies! My babies!" cried the mother with tears in her eyes,
clasping the mites to her breast and kissing them frantically. The
little woman who had many