and turn his head so that the eyes would fail to show.

Jack reflected that there probably were a number of spots in the
anatomy of the jungle terror that were more vulnerable than others;
that a well-aimed bullet might be instantly fatal in one, while able to
inflict only a partial wound in another. Be that as it may, he was
sure that a conical bullet driven between the eyes and through bone,
muscle and brain by a rifle that could kill a man at the distance of a
mile must do effective work when that brain was not a dozen feet
distant from the muzzle of the weapon. At any rate, there was no time
for inquiry and he did not hesitate.

Aiming for a point midway between the gleaming orbs he pressed the
trigger. It takes a well-aimed weapon to kill a royal Bengal tiger,
even at a short distance, but Jack's rifle was well aimed. The tiny
sphere of lead darted through the brain and along the spinal marrow as
if fired with the vicious energy of a charge of dynamite.

It so happened that the tiger was in the act of making his graceful but
fearful leap that was to land him upon the breast of the young man, who
had risen to his feet just before firing. The check at that instant
produced a queer result, the like of which is not often seen. The
shock of the bullet crashing into the head of the muscular beast at the
instant he was calling into play his prodigious strength intensified
that strength to a sudden and astonishing degree. The consequence was
that the tiger, instead of making the leap he intended, made one twice
as great and overshot the mark. From out the gloom the beautiful
sinewy body, of which only a glimpse could be caught, emerged as if
fired from the throat of a Columbiad and, curving over the shoulders of
the man and the boat, dropped into the stream with a splash that sent