It happened one night that Jinks led his pack to his old home—­the place where he had been so carefully reared.  Whether he remembered the place it is impossible to say, but his master was waiting for them with a number of other men, and, as they were all armed with guns, the pack had a warm reception.

As a rule, no matter how much the inhabitants of the bungalows were prepared, the moment that horrible, howling scream began they lost their nerve, and became so frightened and bewildered that they were only too thankful if the jackals took what they wanted in the shape of food and they escaped with their lives.

But Jinks’ old master and the men who were with him were made of different stuff, and when, with their usual howl, the animals sprang upon the house, they were met with a volume of fire and smoke that frightened and subdued them for a moment.  When they recovered themselves, they were met with more fire and smoke, and, as the latter cleared away, numbers of them could be seen stretched out on the ground, limp and senseless.

Among these was Jinks—­brave, plucky, crafty, treacherous Jinks—­who had led his pack to the home which had nourished and fed him, and to the master who had tended and cared for him.

As soon as the pack found that their leader had fallen with so many others of their kin, and as the horrible smoke and fire kept on, the remaining members of it turned and fled, howling, moaning and screaming at the top of their voices.

When all had gone but the dead or dying, Jinks’ master came forward to where Jinks’ handsome body was lying motionless.

“I really believe this is Jinks,” his old master said, in surprise.  And Jinks he proved to be, for he remembered that peculiar, little, bony projection on Jinks’ head, and, although it could not be seen, being covered by a funny little tuft of hair, he felt for it and found it, and this, with the size and markings of the animal, were conclusive.

“Poor old Jinks!” his master said, regretfully, stroking the still handsome head and body.  “He was a beautiful animal, but just as treacherous as the rest of his kind.”

Now, as a matter of fact, Jinks was not dead yet, and at the sound of the old, familiar voice he opened his eyes, now dim and misty with suffering, and looked at his old master in the way he had been used to do when he was only a pup and dependent on him for everything.  And, at the sight of this, his master, who had grown very, very fond of his pet after having him all those years, broke down completely and cried like a child.  His friends persuaded him to go away, and, feeling that he could not bear to see his old pet actually die, he consented and went into the house, where he did his best to forget the sad episode.

And what about Jinks?  Well, as soon as his master had disappeared, Jinks, although wounded, took himself off in a stealthy manner and rejoined his pack.  He had intended to feign death[Footnote:  It is a well-known fact that jackals will sometimes feign death as a means of escape.—­Author.] until attention was taken from him, but the sound of his master’s voice had been too much for him, and he had opened his eyes in spite of himself.  He had, however, been crafty enough to close them again and keep perfectly still until they all drew off, and then he slunk away, as I have just told you.