In describing a pig, they refer to his height, or the length of his tusks.  They describe a fish by putting their fists together, and saying he was so thick, itna mota.  The head of a tiger is always the most conspicuous part of the body seen in the jungle.  They therefore invariably describe him by his head.  One man will hold his two hands apart about two feet, and say that the head was itna burra, that is, so big.  The other, not to be outdone, gives rein to his imagination, and adds another foot.  The first immediately fancies discredit will attach to his veracity, and vehemently asserts that there must in that case have been two tigers; and so they go on, till they conclusively prove, that two tigers there must have been, and indeed, if you let them go on, they will soon assure you that, besides the pair of tigers, there must be at least a pair of half-grown cubs.  Their imaginations are very fertile, and you must take the information of a native as to tigers with a very large pinch of salt.

For successful tiger shooting much depends on the beating.  When after tiger, general firing should on no account be allowed, and the line should move forward as silently as possible.  In light cover, extending over a large area, the elephants should be kept a considerable distance apart, but in thick dense cover the line should be quite close, and beat up slowly and thoroughly, as a tiger may lay up and allow the line to pass him.  On no account should an elephant be let to lag behind, and no one should be allowed to rush forward or go in advance.  The elephants should move along, steady and even, like a moving wall, the fastest being on the flanks, and accommodating their pace to the general rate of progress.  No matter what tempting chances at pig or deer you may have, you must on no account fire except at tiger.

The captain should be in the centre, and the men on the flanks ought to be constantly on the qui vive, to see that no cunning tiger outflanks the line.  The attention should never wander from the jungle before you, for at any moment a tiger may get up—­and I know of no sport where it is necessary to be so continuously on the alert.  Every moment is fraught with intense excitement, and when a tiger does really show his stripes before you, the all-absorbing eager excitement of a lifetime is packed in a few brief moments.  Not a chance should be thrown away, a long, or even an uncertain shot, is better than none, and if you make one miss, you may not have another chance again that day:  for the tiger is chary of showing his stripes, and thinks discretion the better part of valour.