‘Fire away,’ I replied, in an equally melodramatic tone, heartily wishing that his chance had been mine. In about half a minute the report of Castleton’s rifle rang out. It was followed by an angry roar somewhere from my right front, and there was a dead silence. The smoke from Castleton’s rifle came floating over my head; but though I listened intently with my rifle half raised to my shoulder, not the sound of a footstep or the cracking of a twig could I hear. At last Castleton called out: ‘I’ve hit him, but not badly, I think; and he has gone off in your direction.’
Giving Castleton time to reload, I again began moving forward with even greater caution than before. I had advanced only a few paces, when on pushing aside a screen of leaves thicker than usual, and thrusting my head into a bush, I met a sight that made my heart jump: there, within about six feet of me, crouched the leopard, his eyeballs glowing like balls of green fire in the dark jungle, a look of the most savage mischief on his face, and evidently just on the point of springing straight at me. My first impulse was to throw my rifle to my shoulder and fire at once; but more quickly than a flash of lightning came the conviction, like a living voice speaking in me: ‘If you do, and if you don’t kill him dead, he’ll kill you.’ My nerves seemed to grow steady at once, and I checked my first rash impulse. Then keeping my eye fixed on his, I raised my rifle slowly and deliberately, took a steady aim, and fired. A dull groan and a desperate convulsion followed, and then in half a minute all was still. My faithful sepoy had duly obeyed my instructions; he had taken my rifle and had given me the spear, and with this spear held at the charge, ready to receive the leopard if he came my way, we waited until the convulsion subsided. Then peering in again, we found that the leopard had gone back; and it was not until we had advanced some ten yards that we came upon him lying dead. It shows the marvellous vitality of the feline race; for though the ball was a heavy one, and had crashed right through the brain, yet he had managed to go fully eight yards from where he was crouching. Had the ball been turned aside at all by a twig, or had it glanced off his skull, he would almost certainly have made his spring, and in a jungle so dense I could hardly have hoped to keep him off or defend myself.
I called up Castleton at once, and we soon pulled the leopard out of the thicket. We found Castleton’s bullet had hit him in the side, but far back, so as not to interfere in any way with his powers of attack. I congratulated myself on a lucky escape. The villagers were delighted at the death of a robber which had more than once laid their flocks under contribution, and pressed their services on us to carry him home. A procession was soon formed, and we returned to Julbarri in triumph with the leopard swung on a pole in front of us. The other hunters had not returned; so we had ample time to exhibit our prize to the sympathetic eyes of Mrs Castleton and Miss Jervoise. In about an hour, the others returned, wearied and disgusted. The tigers had been disturbed before their arrival, and had betaken themselves to some very heavy jungle, whence, in spite of their best efforts, they were unable to dislodge them. It required a lot of good feeling on their part to make them congratulate us as heartily as they did; and I hope our sympathy with their ill-luck showed itself quite untinged with any sense of our own better fortune.
A TALE OF TWO KNAVERIES.
IN FOUR CHAPTERS.—CHAP. III.
In the course of the next three months, Mr Blackford’s relations with his crazy client Willoughby entered upon a somewhat uncomfortable phase. He had continued his heartless game with the poor wretch, entertaining him with purely imaginative accounts of the superhuman exertions which were being made on his behalf, and bleeding him with a rapacity which grew with each successive extortion. He had in this way obtained nearly a hundred pounds, when something happened which he might have foreseen had he not been blinded by his greed, and which caused him to entertain very unpleasant misgivings. Had Willoughby been a sane man, pursuing a sane object, these repeated demands for money, unaccompanied by any tangible performance, would have aroused suspicions which would have manifested themselves in the usual manner. But being as he was, his disease coloured everything which happened to him; and the perfectly natural suspicions which arose in his mind made themselves heard only by the mocking voices of his airy persecutors. So one morning he informed Mr Blackford that the persons who followed him wherever he went had adopted fresh tactics.
‘They have managed to find out what I come here for,’ said he, ‘and they are trying to frighten me out of doing so in a very curious way. In fact,’ he continued with an uneasy laugh, ‘they have taken to slandering you as well.’
‘And what are they good enough to say about me?’ inquired the solicitor, in much surprise.
‘Of course I pay no attention to it. I have every confidence in you; I am sure you are doing the best you can for me—as you are, are you not?’ added the unfortunate client, with a look of pitiful appeal, which would have softened the heart of any but a necessitous and perfectly unprincipled man. As it was, Mr Blackford experienced an unpleasant spasm in the place where his conscience used to be, before it had dwindled away like an unused muscle.
‘Of course I am,’ he replied. ‘I hope you don’t doubt it?’