“Keep cool,” said the doctor to me in a whisper; “and if you get a good chance at him, fire at the shoulder, but don’t throw away a shot. A slight wound may do more harm than good—make the brute break back through the line, perhaps, and we should lose him.”
“I’ll be careful,” I said huskily.
“That’s right. I want for us to get one tiger, and not the rajah. He has plenty of chances.”
“Keep a sharp look out, doctor,” came from Brace, in a loud voice, which told that he was evidently excited.
In a few minutes we were through the dense thicket of grass, and in a rocky bottom, dotted sparely with tufts of bush and loose stones; and, as I ran my eye over this, I turned to the doctor despairingly.
“There is nothing to hide him here,” I said. “We must have passed him in the thick grass.”
“Nothing to hide him!” cried the doctor; “why, the gorge is full of hiding-places. I call this good cover.”
“Is that something moving?” I said suddenly; and I pointed to some thin yellowish-brown grass, about fifty yards ahead.
“Eh, where? By George!”
His rifle was to his shoulder in a moment, there was a flash, a sharp echoing report, and the mahout shouted “Bagh! Bagh!” while, as the smoke rose, I had a faint glimpse of a great striped animal bounding out of sight, a hundred and fifty yards ahead.