A cry of relief and a prayer to Allah burst from the grey-bearded Mahommedan mahout, as he straightened himself; and Wargrave turned with glowing face and outstretched hand to the girl.

“Oh, well done!  Splendidly done!” he cried.  “You saved me from being lugged bodily out of the howdah or at least from being mauled.  This lever jammed and I couldn’t re-load.”

Her eyes shining and face beaming with excitement she shook his hand.

“Wasn’t it thrilling?  I thought he’d have got both of us.”  Then to the mahout she continued in Urdu, “Gul Dad, are you hurt?”

The man was solemnly feeling himself all over.  He stared at a rent in the shoulder of his coat, torn by the tiger’s claw.  It was the only injury that he had suffered.  He put his finger on it and grumbled: 

“Missie-baba, the shaitan (devil) has torn my coat.”

In the reaction from the strain the girl and Wargrave went off in peals of laughter at his words.

“But are you not wounded?” Miss Benson repeated.  “Has it not clawed you?”

The mahout shook his head.

“No, missie-baba; but it was my new coat,” he insisted.[1]

[1] A similar incident occurred in real life near Alipur Duar in Eastern Bengal to a lady and an officer on a female elephant named Dundora during a beat.  But in this case it was the man that killed the tiger with his second rifle when it was standing on the elephant’s head with its fore-paws on the howdah-rail.  I can personally testify to Dundora’s immobility when facing a charging tiger.—­THE AUTHOR.

Frank looked down at the tiger stretched motionless on the yellow grass.

“By George, you shot him dead enough, Miss Benson!” he exclaimed.

She stared down at the animal.

“Yes; but it’s well to be careful.  I’ve seen a tiger look as dead as that and yet spring up and maul a man who approached it incautiously,” she said.

She raised her rifle and covered the prostrate animal.

“Throw something at it,” she continued.

Wargrave took out a couple of heavy, copper-cased cartridges and flung them one by one at the tiger’s head, striking it on the jaw and in the eye.  The animal did not move.

“Seems dead enough,” said the girl, lowering her rifle.  “Here come the beaters.”

The other elephants had now burst out in line through the scrub.  Their mahouts shouted enquiries to Gul Dad and when they heard of the tiger’s death cheered gleefully, for it meant backsheesh to them.  Badshah was seen to be searching for a way down into the nullah and in a few minutes brought his passengers up alongside Miss Benson and the subaltern.  Her father and Dermot congratulated the girl warmly; and the latter, having made Badshah kick the tiger to make certain that it was dead, dismounted and examined it.