She sat there upon her haunches very composedly, looking over at the bullock. Perhaps she suspected something. At all events, she seemed reluctant to stir just yet. She remained well out of range, licking her paws, and preening herself precisely like pussy before the fire.
The natives with Sir Dyce in his lurking-place would have risked a shot already had he not checked them. After a moment, however, the great cat raised her head, then lowered it, smelling the ground, and finally advanced slowly toward the dead bullock. The excitement of the natives upon actually beholding before them the dreaded marauder and murderess of their district was evinced by their breathless watchfulness of every motion she made.
The tigress gained the side of the bullock. Thereupon she stooped, and, much to Sir Dyce's discomfiture, instead of beginning her supper then and there, began easily and rapidly to drag the bullock back toward the opposite thicket.
There was no time in such an event to be wasted. The elephant was not available. Sir Dyce stepped quickly from cover and fired. Two of his native companions followed his example. The tigress started, uninjured, dropped the carcass, and turned. Perceiving the hunters, she stood for an instant in a dignified attitude, then roared, lashed her tail furiously, and charged down upon them. The natives shrieked, and rushed pell-mell back. Sir Dyce fired, and pierced the brute's shoulder. She now charged furiously upon him as he stood alone just forward of the edge of the jungle. His last bullet met her. She leaped into the air, rolled over and over in her death-agony, and then lay rigid and motionless. No more cattle or priests or women would Kali bear away from Sundapoor or any other village.
The natives approached the dead beast tremblingly, and offered prayers to the great goddess whose name they had given it, before they ventured to take the creature home in triumph. Sir Dyce had a rude ovation in Sundapoor that evening that he often smiled over afterward. He cared less for the songs sung in his honor, less for the fire-works and drumming and the procession around his camp-stool, than he did for the noble skin that afterward he took to his English home for his little sons to roll upon. But then only an Indian village that has been long in terror from a man-eater can appreciate what a relief he and a good English gun had given it.
