horse and foot, elephants and camels, will march in an hour--as
strange a sight and as strange a work as may be witnessed in the world
to-day.

Watch each elephant kneel and come prone for his big hunting-tower.
There are five men to each elephant, one at his head, four to haul the
gear and make fast. The deft skill, the swiftness and silence, show
the veteran in the enemy's country. Every man knows his work and knows
the officer above him; and each officer, too, knows just what is
expected of him--from the lowest up to the colonel himself, a fine
figure, tall, erect, white-haired, an adept in tiger-lore, with a
hundred and fifty skins in his bungalow.

[Illustration: TIGRESS ALSO IS SLAIN

THE BODY BORNE BACK TO CAMP ON ONE OF THE PAD-ELEPHANTS]

Twelve mounted sahibs gallop this way and that, collecting _shikaris_
and beaters. Native officers distribute fire-works and tom-toms,
rattles and flint-locks and torches. The _mot d'ordre_ is: "Kick
up----at the right time."

There is a brief, businesslike interview in old Howe's tent. "The
tigers," he says in a matter-of-fact way, as though dismissing school,
"shall be inclosed in a triangle, of which the apex shall be ourselves
and the elephants. You will draw lots for positions among yourselves.
The bases of the triangle shall be the beaters, and the flanks the
stops posted up trees, who shall see that the tigers do not turn and
break out of the beat. You will please be alert, with rifles cocked
and barrels and cartridges examined beforehand. There must be no undue