Three of us, including myself, then agreed to sit up
that night, and watch for the tiger, feeling assured that his haunt
was not far from our cantonment. So we started late at night, armed
_cap-a-pied_, and each as fierce in heart as ten tigers; arrived
at the appointed spot, and having selected a convenient place for
concealment, we picketed a sheep, brought with us purposely to entice
the cheetar from his lair. Singular to relate, this poor animal, as if
instinctively aware of its critical situation, was as mute as if
it had been mouthless, and during two or three hours in which we
tormented it, to make it utter a cry, our efforts were of no avail.
Hour after hour slipped away, still no cheetar; and about three
o'clock in the morning, wearied with our fruitless vigil, we all began
to drop asleep. I believe I was wrapped in a most leaden slumber, and
dreaming of anything but watching for, and hunting tigers, when I was
aroused by the most unnatural, unearthly, and infernal roaring ever
heard. This was our friend, and for his reception, starting upon our
feet, we were all immediately ready; but the cunning creature who
had no idea of becoming our victim, made off, with the most hideous
howlings, to the shelter of a neighbouring eminence; when sufficient
daylight appeared, we followed the direction of his voice, and had the
felicity of seeing him perched on the summit of an immense high rock,
just before us, placidly watching our movements.
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