Our shikarees, stimulated by liberal backsheesh when their news resulted in a bag, used often to bring us in khubber; but sometimes the news was not very good; and when this was the case, the less ardent sportsmen of our number would frequently refuse to go out, and would make over their turn to me. I never refused, for I was young and enthusiastic enough to love the fun and the excitement of the hunt, even when our expedition resulted in no bag; and did not care for the chaff with which my sedater comrades would greet me on my return. Sometimes, however, the laugh was on my side; but I was wise enough, with a view to future contingencies, not to indulge in it too much.
We had been having very fair sport on and off for about six weeks, and the animals in the jungles close around the station seemed to have been all killed off or driven away; for a whole week passed, and no khubber good enough to tempt even me did our shikarees bring. It was the seventh blank day, and as we sat at our chota hazri (early morning cup of some invigorating but harmless beverage), under the shade of a splendid mango-tree which grew conveniently close to our messhouse veranda, my chum and I were discussing the necessity of taking a week’s trip across the river which skirted our station, and were trying to cajole our companions into letting us have the use of the elephants for so long a time. We had nearly succeeded in persuading them of the uselessness of expecting to get any more shooting close to Julbarri, and two of the least enthusiastic of our Nimrods had actually given in, when into the compound and right up to our table who should dash but Jamala, the very best and most trustworthy of all our shikarees! Almost breathless, he stammered out: ‘Sahib, sahib, two such huge tigers! Their pugs are as big as that;’ and he described with the end of the stick he held in his hand a figure in the dust, intended to portray the size of their footprints, which would have done credit to a well-grown mammoth. ‘They have killed a bullock in the Kala jungle, only six miles off; and I am sure they were still there when I left half an hour ago. I ordered the elephants to be got ready as I passed the lines.’
Here was news with a vengeance; but alas, it was my turn to stay in cantonments; and with such splendid khubber as this I could not, of course, even hint the suggestion of an exchange. It was the custom of those going out, to borrow all the firearms of those remaining behind; so I and Castleton, who was my comrade in misfortune, made over our Joe Manton guns and our Purdeys to our luckier companions, and wished them good speed with the best grace we could muster; and if we betrayed our feelings a little by throwing after them the parting exhortation, ‘Mind you don’t miss the fifteen-footer,’ well, I really think we ought to be forgiven.
Castleton was a married man; and I must crave the ladies’ pardon for omitting in my list of our Julbarri residents the really charming Mrs Castleton and her fascinating sister, Miss Jervoise. As soon as the hunters had gone, Castleton turned to me, and said: ‘You had better come over and lunch with us, Watson. You’ll only be breaking your heart over visions of those two fabulously footed tigers, if you lunch at mess alone.’
I thanked him; and two o’clock found me receiving the commiserations of the two fair ladies, while they pressed upon me the usual profuse hospitality of an Indian luncheon. We had reached the dessert stage, and Mrs Castleton was just pressing me to taste some specially delicious plantains which a neighbouring rajah had sent her the day before, when the bearer came in, and making a salaam, said to Castleton: ‘A man has just come from that little hamlet of Goree; he wants the sahib log to go out and shoot a leopard which has just killed one of his kids, and is now lying eating it in a small patch of jungle. Goree is only a mile and a half from here.’
We stared blankly at each other.
‘What can we do?’ said Castleton.
‘Do? Why, go and shoot it, of course!’ exclaimed the enthusiastic Miss Jervoise.
‘But, Kate dear,’ broke in Mrs Castleton with wifely solicitude, ‘the elephants are all away, and how can they shoot it?’
‘Oh, I am not thinking about the elephants,’ replied Castleton; ‘but Watson and I have lent all our rifles and guns, and we haven’t a single thing of any kind left.’