The scheme was a brilliant one, perhaps; but young as was Tom Gordon, he
felt that the difficulty lay in its application.

"Gracious! Jim! the tiger is stirring up things, isn't he? We've got a gun
in the house, and if he visits us I think I'll try that."

"Do you know where to hit him?" asked Jim, who, having fully recovered his
wind, seemed at the same time to have regained a vast amount of curious
knowledge of natural history.

"I s'pose in the head is as good as any place."

"Don't you think of such a thing! He don't mind being hit in the head
more than you do getting hit by a spit-ball. You must aim for his tail!"

"How can that hurt him?" asked the amazed Tom.

"Why, I seed the balls that hit his head glance off and scoot up in the
air, like skipping stones over the water. A tiger uses his tail to balance
himself with. Shoot off his tail, and he loses his balance. Every time he
tries to walk, he tips over. Don't forget, Tom, if you shoot, to aim at
his tail, just where it is stuck onto his body. If you miss, look him in
the eye; and if that doesn't stop him, let drive with your foot under the
jaw, and don't forget to have your shoes on. Well, I must go home to tell
the folks to git ready," added Jim, loping off like an Indian starting on
a long journey.

Tom had caught the contagion of excitement, and the moment his friend left
he made a dash for the door of his home, bursting in upon his mother and
aunt with the astounding news just received from his playmate.