‘Oh, God!’ Joe cursed under his breath, ‘This trap’s empty! She’s not here! And we’ll have to do the whole bloody thing again somewhere else tomorrow . . . or the next day!’
A single shot from Claude’s position steadied his nerves. Something was moving, then. He waited, scanning his sector.
Then she was there, in the spot where he’d looked for her. Outlined against the sandy patch on which he’d been concentrating, she stood, stealthily sniffing the air. A huge beast, gleaming red-gold and black in the harsh sunlight, she was magnificent. The monkeys above his head barked a tiger warning, dancing about with outrage and fear. A shot cracked out from Edgar and she reared on her hind legs roaring a protest. Seemingly unharmed, she swung about and plunged into the cover of the grasses. Was she wounded? Had Edgar missed? He’d fired with the tiger sideways on to him. An easy target but not the best of shots when it came to placing a killer bullet. Joe watched the waving of the grasses as she came on at a bounding run towards his tree. Swallowing nervously he tracked her as she forged forward.
‘Go for the throat,’ Colin had said. ‘Don’t try for a head shot. More difficult and tigers often survive a head wound. The throat shot’s the stopper.’ But how the hell did you shoot a tiger in the throat when you were fifteen feet above its head and it was charging straight towards you? By the laws of geometry the throat would be an impossible target if she got any nearer. With sinking heart he acknowledged that, incredibly, everyone else had missed their shots and it was up to him. Hands steady on the gun, he waited. Instinct, calculation, luck, they all played their part: suddenly she was clear of the grass, her throat a target for the duration of one more stride. He pulled the trigger. Her forward dash stopped abruptly and she stood still, looking up at him, with, he could have sworn, a slight smile on her face, then she crashed to the ground.
Movement below Edgar’s tree told Joe he was already running towards the kill. Joe climbed down, still clutching his rifle, his head a whirl of mixed emotions with something very like elation bubbling to the top. As Colin had taught them, he picked up a stone and threw it at the body to check for signs of life. It seemed to him a mean act but tigers apparently dead had been known to leap roaring to their feet when inexperienced shikari had approached to place a conquering foot on their necks. There was no movement so he moved forward to apply the second test. He tugged the end of the tiger’s tail and, still seeing no response, he waved his rifle in triumph as Edgar ran towards him.
When Edgar reached the open ground he stopped. His body tensed, he dropped his hat and yelled something which Joe could not possibly hear over the continued noise of the beaters and the now hysterical monkeys.
Joe could make no sense of what was happening but his blood chilled to see Edgar’s gun go up and train steadily straight at him.
‘Edgar! What the hell?’
Joe was looking down the barrels of a 500 express rifle and one of them was still loaded.
Holding his rifle one-handed, Edgar raised his left arm and in a well-remembered soldier’s silent warning his hand chopped down savagely twice. In instant response, Joe spun around to cover his rear and looked straight into the open red jaws of a tiger.
A tiger only feet away, very much alive, full of rage and on the point of springing. Colin’s voice sounding in his head, and his instincts allowing for the change in height as the beast leapt, Joe swung his rifle upwards. With no time to shoulder it, he fired from the hip. The recoil of the big gun threw him backwards and sideways away from the twenty-stone body hurtling towards him and he fell, out of the path of the tiger as it collapsed, twitching and thrashing, over the prints of his own feet in the sand. Its hot breath swept his cheek as it crashed down; the claws of one outflung paw raked his forearm.
The monkey chorus leaped about, angry little black faces gibbering and screaming, throwing pieces of wood at the body of the tiger. Joe scrambled to his feet and was glad of the support of Edgar’s arm as he rushed forward and held him upright.
‘Sorry, Joe, couldn’t get a clear shot at the bugger! You were right in my line of fire. But what the hell! Where did he come from? Are you all right, old man? That was a nasty surprise!’ He released Joe and went to examine the tiger. ‘Fine shot! Right through the throat!’ He straightened and began to laugh. ‘Two tigers, with two bullets, in two minutes! This is a story that’ll be told at campfires for years! Two Shots Sandilands! I can hear it now.’
Edgar’s attempt at jovial insouciance did not deceive Joe; it covered a depth of trembling agitation. At last Joe managed to get his vocal cords in gear. ‘Edgar – thank you. Thank you very much. Again.’
Edgar raised his revolver. ‘Mustn’t forget the all clear in all this excitement!’ He fired three swift shots. ‘We’d better get the doc to have a look at that arm but meanwhile I’ll put this round it.’ He produced a large handkerchief. ‘Can’t have you dripping blood everywhere in that dramatic way.’
‘What in heaven’s name is going on here?’ Suddenly and silently, Colin was at their elbow, rifle over his arm. ‘Oh, no! Good Lord!’ He read the scene in front of him at once, needing no word of explanation from Joe or Edgar. ‘Two of the creatures! How can I have missed that? What a bloody fool! Joe, are you all right?’
Joe reassured him. ‘The tigress did everything you expected her to do, Colin, right on cue. But where the hell did this other one come from? It was right behind me!’
Colin shook his head slowly. ‘Her cub? Most likely her cub. Fully grown as you’ve noticed. They must have been hunting as a pair . . .’ His face contorted with anger and regret. ‘If only I’d had more time to examine the area I might have come across a second set of pug marks. This was very nearly a disaster.’
‘Explains why so many villagers were being taken,’ said Edgar practically. ‘Feeding two of the buggers!’
A band of villagers, beaters judging by the sticks and drums they still carried, approached warily, then less warily as they saw the two bodies lying motionless. They shouted exultantly at Colin, clashing their sticks together in triumph. One approached the tigress and began to pour out invective on the dead animal.
‘“This shaitan of a tiger”,’ Edgar translated with a grin. ‘Just giving you the flavour of this now . . . They’re glad it’s dead. He’s naming all his friends and relations who’ve been killed . . . it’s quite a long list.’ He turned to the hunter, who was still unable to join in the celebrations. ‘Come on, Colin, cheer up! All’s well that ends in two dead man-eaters. It’s a double triumph for everyone.’
Slowly Colin allowed himself a slight smile, then, catching the relief of Edgar and Joe and the good humour of the beaters, a wider smile.
As the noises died down, they all grinned at each other in satisfaction over the body of the tiger. They were still grinning when, a moment later, an insistent blast of a railway whistle sounded to the east. It sounded again and again.
Chapter Twenty-One
They ran, blinded by sweat, lungs heaving a protest at the heat, drawn on through the scrub by the note of panic in the whistle.
It led them to Bahadur’s tree.
Shubhada, stiff with fright, dropped her whistle as they crashed through the remaining bushes and pointed with an unsteady finger towards the thicket separating her tree from the one to its left, that of Claude Vyvyan. Joe looked and looked again.
‘Where’s Bahadur? Your Highness, where’s Bahadur?’
Again she pointed. Shrilly she said, ‘I don’t know! He got down to have a . . . to answer a call of nature . . . sometime before the bugle blew. I told him to try not to . . . it was only nerves . . . but he insisted. Then the beat started and he still hadn’t come back. I didn’t know what to do. I stayed on the machan trying to cover the nullah and the game path. I didn’t want to whistle in case it brought the tiger down on us.’