of so little value that when one or two of them may chance to be killed by the panther the matter is of little or no consequence.  The pack will soon find the panther, and perhaps run him up a tree, and thus give the sportsman a good, or rather certain chance of killing the animal.  In this way a manager of mine was very successful in bagging panthers.  I have some reason to suppose that the panther, when severely wounded, sometimes feigns death, and give the following incident with the view of eliciting further information on the subject.

Two natives in my neighbourhood once sat up over a kill, and apparently killed a panther—­at least it lay as if dead.  They then with the aid of some villagers, who afterwards arrived on the scene of action, began to skin the panther, and the man who had wounded it took hold of the tail to stretch the body out when the panther came suddenly to life, and bit the man in the leg.  One of the people present then fired at the panther, apparently killing it outright.  The man, who had been only slightly bitten, then again took the animal by the tail, a proceeding which it evidently could not stand, for this time it came to life in earnest, and inflicted a number of wounds on the man at the tail.  The natives then attacked it with their hacking knives, and finally put an end to it.  The dresser of my estate was sent to the village, which was about six miles away, to treat the wounds, but the unfortunate man died.  I may add that this is the only instance I have known of a man being killed by a panther in my neighbourhood.

I now turn to an animal which is really dangerous, and I think more daring than any animal in the jungles—­the wild boar—­and whatever doubts the panther has of its own powers, I feel sure that the boar can have none—­in fact its action is not only daring, but at times even insulting.  To be threatened and attacked in the jungle one can understand, but to be growled at and menaced while on one’s own premises is intolerable.  I never but once heard the deep threatening don’t-come-near-me growl of the wild boar (and in the many sporting books I have read I never met with any allusion to it), and that was some years ago, within about ten or fifteen yards of my bungalow, and the incident is worth mentioning as showing the great daring and coolness of the wild boar.

One evening at about seven o’clock, and on a clear but moonless night, I went into the garden in front of my house.  This is flanked by a low retaining wall some three or four feet high—­a wall built to retain the soil when the ground was levelled—­and below this a few bushes and plants had sprung up close to the bottom of the wall.  In these I heard what I supposed to be a pariah dog gnawing a bone, and, in order to frighten it away, I quietly approached within a few yards of the spot, and made a slight noise between my lips.  I was at once answered by a low deep growl, which I at first took to be the growl of a panther, and I then walked back to the