presently, when I supposed he must have received at least forty shots
in his body, he fell back from a desperate attempt to scale the back
of the rajah's elephant, and lay quite still.

[Illustration: BRAHMANS OF BENGAL.]

"I thought that last shot of mine would finish him," said one of
the English civil officials as we all crowded around the magnificent
beast.

"Whether it did or not, I distinctly saw him cringe at _my_ shot,"
hotly said another. "There's always a peculiar look a tiger has when
he gets his death-wound: it's unmistakable when you once know it."

"And I'll engage to eat him," interjected a third, "if I didn't blow
off the whole side of his face with my smooth-bore when he stuck his
muzzle up into my howdah."

"Gentlemen," said our leader, a cool and model old hunter, "the
shortest way to settle who is the owner of this tiger-skin is to
examine the perforations in it."

Which we all accordingly fell to doing.

"B----, I'm afraid you've a heavy meal ahead of you: his muzzle is as
guiltless of harm as a baby's," said one of the claimants.

"Well," retorted B----, "but I don't see any sign of that big bore of
yours, either."