A tiger had lately committed some ravages within the lines of the 150th, and the night before had actually entered the mess-compound of the corps. It was a man-eater, too, and when once these ferocious animals take to preying on the human species, they acquire a love for the food, which never leaves them. Lieutenant Curtis and the Ensign had volunteered to kill it, while Captain Hughes, who was to start for Madras on two years’ leave, had gladly joined the party.
Silence now fell on the watchers, the moonlight grew more and more feeble, the red ends of the cigars gleamed under the shadow of the verandah, in one corner of which stood the Captain’s palanquin, its bearers thrown down on the chenam floor beside it, sleeping soundly. The stars were shining brightly, and the cries of the hyenas on the plain beyond were answered from time to time by the bleat of the sheep, picketed in the centre of the yard. Hour passed after hour, and the moon had quite disappeared. The youngest of the party, unused to the long watch, had fallen fast asleep, and his head being thrown back in an uneasy position, was snoring loudly.
“Confound that fellow, he is enough to frighten a Bengal tiger; just prod him up, Hughes, will you!” said Curtis, in an undertone.
The Ensign’s rifle leaned against one of the pillars of the verandah. Those of the other two lay across their knees, and Hughes, giving two or three pokes with the muzzle of his, between the sleeping lad’s ribs, tried to wake him. Worn out with the heat and watching, the boy muttered some unintelligible words, and, turning, was again fast asleep in a moment.
“And you don’t mean to go to England?” continued Curtis, speaking in a guarded tone.
“No, I don’t,” returned Hughes, in the same low voice. “You and I, Curtis, are the crack shots of the regiment, and my rifle at least shall be heard on the plains and by the rivers of South Africa.”
“How I wish I could start with you, old fellow,” said Curtis, with a sigh.
“How I wish you could; but it’s no use wishing, Curtis. You have had so much leave of late that you can’t ask, and if you did, your application would not be forwarded.”
“No, I suppose not. Colonel Desmond’s a good fellow; but I should not like to ask him. Have you any one you know in South Africa?”
“Yes, I’ve a relation who has been for many years Government Agent on the Zulu frontier, and he promises me a fit out, and a letter to Panda, the King of the Zulus.”