During tiffin, we were surrounded by a bevy of really fair and buxom lasses.  They wore petticoats of striped blue cloth, and had their arms and shoulders bare, and their ears loaded with silver ornaments.  They were merry, laughing, comely damsels, with none of the exaggerated shyness, and affected prudery of the women of the plains.  We were offered plantains, milk, and chupatties, and an old patriarch came out leaning on his staff, to revile and abuse the tigress.  From some of the young men we heard of a fresh kill to the north of the village, and after tiffin we proceeded in that direction, following up the course of the limpid stream, whose gurgling ripple sounded so pleasantly in our ears.

Far ahead to the right, and on the further bank of the stream, we could see dense curling volumes of smoke, and leaping pyramids of flame, where a jungle fire was raging in some thick acacia scrub.  As we got nearer, the heat became excessive, and the flames, fanned into tremendous fury by the fierce west wind, tore through the dry thorny bushes.  Our elephants were quite unsteady, and did not like facing the fire.  We made a slight detour, and soon had the roaring wall of flame behind us.  We were now entering on a moist, circular, basin-shaped hollow.  Among the patair roots were the recent marks of great numbers of wild pigs, where they had been foraging among the stiff clay for these esculents.  The patair is like a huge bulrush, and the elephants are very fond of its succulent, juicy, cool-looking leaves.  Those in our line kept tearing up huge tufts of it, thrashing out the mud and dirt from the roots against their forelegs, and with a grunt of satisfaction, making it slowly disappear in their cavernous mouths.  There was considerable noise, and the jungle was nearly as high as the howdahs, presenting the appearance of an impenetrable screen of vivid green.  We beat and rebeat, across and across, but there was no sign of the tiger.  The banks of the nullah were very steep, rotten looking, and dangerous.  We had about eighteen elephants, namely, ten of our own, and eight belonging to the Nepaulese.  We were beating very close, the elephants’ heads almost touching.  This is the way they always beat in Nepaul.  We thought we had left not a spot in the basin untouched, and Captain S. was quite satisfied that there could be no tiger there.  It was a splendid jungle for cover, so thick, dense, and cool.  I was beating along the edge of the creek, which ran deep and silent, between the gloomy sedge-covered banks.  In a placid little pool I saw a couple of widgeon all unconscious of danger, their glossy plumage reflected in the clear water.  I called to Captain S.  ’We are sold this time Captain, there’s no tiger here!’

‘I am afraid not,’ he answered.

‘Shall I bag those two widgeon?’ I asked.

‘All right,’ was the response.

Putting in shot cartridge, I shot both the widgeon, but we were all astounded to see the tiger we had so carefully and perseveringly searched for, bound out of a crevice in the bank, almost right under my elephant.  Off he went with a smothered roar, that set our elephants hurrying backwards and forwards.  There was a commotion along the whole line.  The jungle was too dense for us to see anything.  It was one more proof how these hill tigers will lie close, even in the midst of a line.