Five months passed, during which time I received three letters from the Sub-Collector, telling of vague rumours of human tiger-kills from distant places, two being from across the Cauvery River in the Coimbatore District, one from Mysore State territory, and the fourth from a place still further away.

Then suddenly came the bad news I feared, but had hoped would not eventuate, A tiger had struck again at Gundalam, killing her eighth victim there, and the next evening had snatched, from the very door of the little temple at Sulekunta, the old priest who had attended to the place for the last forty years. The letter concluded with the request to come at once. Such urgent invitation was unnecessary, for I had been holding myself in readiness for the worst; within two hours I was motoring to Jowlagiri.

Arriving there I was fortunate in being able to talk to one of the party of pilgrims who had almost been eye-witnesses to the death of the old priest of the temple at Sulekunta. Apparently a party of men had been on pilgrimage and, as they approached the temple itself, were horrified to hear the low growl of a tiger, which then leapt into the forest from the roots of a giant pepul tree that grew some thirty yards away. Bolting for shelter into the temple itself, they were surprised to find it tenantless, and looking out were aghast to see the body of the old priest lying within the folds of the gnarled roots of the old pepul tree

that directly faced them. After some time, and very timidly, they approached in a group, to find that the old man had apparently been attacked in, or very near, the temple, and then been carried to this spot to be devoured. The tiger had already begun its meal, consuming part of the skinny chest, when it had been disturbed by the pilgrim party. I particularly inquired as to whether my informant, or his companions, had noticed anything wrong with the tiger's ears, but obviously they had all been too frightened to observe any defects.

I hurried to Sulekunta with my party of three and arrived near dusk; I must confess that the last two miles of the journey had been very uncomfortable, traversing a valley between two steeply sloping hills that were densely clothed with bamboo. But we heard and saw nothing, beyond the sudden trumpeting of a solitary elephant, which had been inhabiting these parts for some time and had been a considerable annoyance to pilgrims, whom he apparently delighted to chase if they were in small parties. But that is another story.

There was no time to make a proper camp, so we decided to sleep in the deserted front portion of the temple itself, a proceeding which I, and very decidedly my followers, would have declined to do under normal circumstances. But nightfall and the proximity of a man-eater are apt to overcome all scruples and principles. I stood guard with the loaded rifle, while my three men frenziedly gathered brush-wood and rotting logs that lay in plenty nearby, to build a fire for our warmth and protection, for on this occasion there was no friendly moon and it would soon be dark. Under such circumstances, attempting to sit-up for the man-eater, in the hope of its passing near the temple, would have been both highly dangerous and futile.

Soon we had a bright fire blazing, on the inner side of which we sat, away from the pitch-black jungle night, which could easily have sheltered the murderer, all unknown to us, within a distance of two feet. Listening intently, we occasionally heard the deep belling boom of sambar, and I could discern the harsher note of a stag, but these did not follow in persistent repetition, showing that the animals had not been unduly alarmed by any such

major foe as the king of the Indian jungle. After midnight we arranged to keep watch in twos, three hours at a time, and I elected, with one of my companions, to take first

turn. The other two were soon asleep. Nothing untoward happened, however, beyond the fact that the solitary tusker, who had approached near enough to catch a sudden sight of the fire, trumpeted once again and crashed away. A kakur, or barking-deer, uttered its sharp cry around 2 a.m., but as this was not continued, I decided it had been disturbed by a wandering leopard. Three o'clock came, I awoke the two sleeping men, and in turn fell into a dream less sleep, to awaken to the early and spirited cry of a grey jungle cock, saluting the rising sun.

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