“I have just put it on, but will take it off again. Here, old man, you get down first, and we will hand the guns to you.”—this to the shikari.
With some difficulty they scrambled down from the tree.
“Now we may as well cap our rifles,” Richards said; “the brute may not be dead after all.”
They approached the bush cautiously.
“You are quite sure he is dead, Doctor?”
“Quite sure; do you think I don't know when a tiger is dead?”
Still holding their guns in readiness to fire, they approached the bushes.
“You can do no good until the villagers come with torches,” the Doctor said; “the tiger is dead enough, but it is always as well to be prudent.”
The shikari had uttered a loud cry as he sprang down from the tree, and this had been answered by shouts from the distance. In a few minutes lights were seen through the trees, and a score of men with torches and lanterns ran up with shouts of satisfaction.
As soon as they arrived the two young officers advanced to the cage. On the top a tiger was lying stretched out as if in sleep; with some caution they approached it and flashed a torch in its eyes. There was no doubt that it was dead. The body was quickly rolled off the cage, and then a dozen hands cut the lashing and lifted the top bars, which was deeply scored by the tiger's claws, and the Doctor emerged.