Chapter X: The Tiger Hunt

All the way across the fields to the village, Biff was brimming with excitement because they had met Barma Shah, the secret agent mentioned by Diwan Chand, and the all-important contact to Biff’s father. But Biff’s enthusiasm was marred by disappointment.

“If I’d only told him who I was!” he exclaimed. “All the while I was driving the jeep, I was holding back on that, thinking that to say anything to anybody might be giving ourselves away.”

“Barma Shah is very smart,” reminded Chandra. “Perhaps he knew who you were.”

“What makes you think that, Chandra?”

“We kept seeing jeep over and over. It went past us—we went past it—as if it was keeping watch on us.”

“But that was due to all the traffic—”

“Traffic did not hold us up after Sahib Shah let you drive his jeep. Next thing, we were practically here at Supari.”

“You may be right, Chandra,” Biff agreed.

They had reached the actual village now, a mass of closely built huts with mud walls and tiled roofs, surrounded by yapping, nondescript dogs. It was almost sundown, and from this central point, the fields and trees looked dark and gaunt against the spreading purple of the sky. Now people, mostly in native costumes, were flocking out, first in alarm, then in a wild welcome when they recognized Chandra.

Biff and Kamuka were included in the villagers’ enthusiasm, and then Chandra’s uncle, the _patwari_, was greeting them and introducing them, in turn, to the _patel_, or head man of the village. The boys were supplied with cups of rich, delicious milk, and later they were taken to a modern building that served as school and community house, a symbol of the new India.

There, they feasted on tasty curry and rice, followed by fruits and cakes. Chandra, meanwhile, kept up a running chatter with his uncle and other villagers, mixing English with Hindi and the local native dialect. From the tone of the talk, Biff and Kamuka gathered that something quite serious was afoot. Chandra finally supplied the details.

“You will meet Barma Shah very soon,” Chandra told Biff, “because my uncle tells me that the head shikari at Keewal has asked the village people to help trap a tiger tomorrow night.”

“Aren’t tigers usually hunted in the daytime?”

“Not this kind,” declared Chandra. “This tiger is a cattle stealer, and lately he has prowled near the village, killing people after dark. That is why there was so much excitement when we arrived close to nightfall.”

As they left the community house, Biff heard the incessant barking of the dogs on the fringe of the town. Watchmen with big spears were on patrol. Many lanterns were aglow, showing that the village was tense and alert. Wisps of grayish smoke coiled from the chimneys and wavered, like fading ghosts, against the vast blackness of the starlit sky.

But when they entered the snug hut which Chandra smilingly termed their _daulat-khana_, or “palace,” Biff felt that the outside world was far away. His bed was a simple _charpoy_—tapes strung to its frame instead of springs or mattress—but Biff was so tired that nothing could have been more comfortable. The calls of the patrolling watchmen, the distant barking of the dogs, simply lulled him off to solid sleep.

It was nearly noon when Biff awoke. He and Kamuka followed Chandra around the village, where they saw weavers, shoemakers, carpenters, and blacksmiths at work. Chandra explained that they were paid off in crops raised by the farmers who made up most of the community. But today, the carpenters and metal workers were combining their efforts in constructing huge wooden frames that were set with heavy bars of iron.

“Why, that looks like a big portable cage!” Biff exclaimed.

Chandra’s uncle, the patwari, was standing by. He smiled and responded, “It is exactly that. Tonight, we use it to trap the killer tiger.”

“You mean he may walk right into it?”

“No, no!” The patwari shook his head. “The bars are to keep the tiger out, so the living bait will be safe inside the cage.”

“But don’t you just stake out some animal?” asked Biff. “So the tiger will think it is loose?”

“Usually we do that with a pig or buffalo,” replied Chandra’s uncle, “but this tiger has tasted human blood. So tonight we will try human bait. That is the purpose of the cage.”

“And the bait,” put in Chandra proudly, “will be Kamuka and myself. We are going in with Thakur, the head watchman and chief hunter of the village.”

“We are sorry to leave you out, Biff,” added Kamuka in explanation. “You were still asleep when they asked us, and it was only after we said, ‘Yes,’ that we found they only had room for two.”

Biff thought at first that his friends were joking, but it turned out they were quite in earnest. The cage had been specially designed for Thakur and two lookouts, preferably boys. But the village youths had become so tiger-conscious that they were seeing jungle cats every time a leaf stirred in the underbrush. So Chandra and Kamuka had been recruited for the job instead.

Biff put on a show of disappointment, if only to impress Chandra’s uncle and the other villagers.

“Maybe Barma Shah, the man with the jeep, will want me to help him,” Biff said. “I’ll ask him when I see him.”

Late in the afternoon, the barred frames were ready, and they were hauled by ox-cart to a _shola_, or patch of jungle not far from the town. That was where the tiger had attacked and slain its victims, so the villagers had shunned the place for the past few days.

During that period, Matapar, the head Shikari from Keewal, had put up platforms in surrounding trees, covering the open area where the tiger liked to prowl. By now, he hoped the tiger would be used to it, but the cage idea did not appeal to Matapar. That had been thought up by Thakur, the village huntsman.

So Matapar and the other shikaris watched silently, almost glumly, while Thakur and his helpers set up the cage close to a thicket that they thought would be inviting to the tiger. They were fixing the frames together with crude bolts when Barma Shah drove up in his jeep, wearing his pulled-down beret and dark sun glasses.

Biff walked over to meet him and as Barma Shah nodded a greeting, Biff announced, “I am Biff Brewster.”

“I was sure of that,” rejoined Barma Shah, extending his hand in greeting, “but because of your mission I thought it best to introduce myself first and let you make the next move.”

“I’m doing that now,” stated Biff. “Sir—what have you heard from my father? Where is he?”

Despite himself, Biff betrayed anxiety in his tone. Barma Shah noticed it and put reassurance into his reply.

“I haven’t heard from him,” he said, “but I know that he went to Kashmir and that he has probably—gone on from there. His mission was there, mine was in Calcutta.”

Barma Shah paused and glanced about to make sure that no one was close enough to hear. Then he inquired:

“You have the ruby Diwan Chand gave you?”

Biff fingered the bag beneath his shirt collar and nodded. “Right here,” he said.

“Good. Your father will be needing it. We can talk more of this tomorrow.”

Barma Shah was carrying a modern rifle with what appeared to be a large telescopic sight mounted on top of the barrel. That reminded Biff of an important request.

“The other boys are going into the cage with Thakur,” he stated. “Could you post me on a platform or somewhere, sir?”

Barma Shah paused a moment, then nodded. “I have the perfect job for you. I need a driver for the jeep, which I am keeping in reserve with two shikaris, in case anything goes wrong. By turning it over to you, I can post myself on one of the platforms.”

By sundown, the scene was set. Thakur was in the cage, gripping a big shotgun and flanked by Chandra and Kamuka, each armed with a spear. Barma Shah had picked himself a platform up in a tree. Matapar and other shikaris were up on their platforms, all at ideal range. Biff was as far off in the jeep as space would allow, down at the end of a long, smooth gully that practically formed a roadway to the clearing. In the back seat, two more shikaris sat ready with their rifles.

But as dusk gathered, tension grew. The cage was the focal spot. If the tiger approached too close, Thakur was to drive him back with quick shots. Then Barma Shah, Matapar, and the rest would open fire with their rifles, covering practically the entire clearing. Biff’s job was to come up with the jeep, only when needed—early, if anything went badly wrong; later, if all went well.

From the way things had been planned, they seemed likely to go well, but that depended partly on the tiger. Usually, he picked his victims just before dark, but this evening he was wary. Chandra and Kamuka gave occasional calls, putting a frightened tremolo into their voices, hoping to coax the striped terror into seeking them. But the darkness thickened and then became almost total in the clearing, before the cunning cat decided to strike.

Then it happened, like the surge of an invisible fury. Sharp-eyed though they were, neither Chandra nor Kamuka caught the slightest glimpse of the five-hundred-pound tiger until its ten feet of furred lightning landed squarely on the cage with the destructive force of a living thunderbolt. The cage buckled, hurling the occupants on their backs. Thakur’s shotgun spouted straight upward, missing the tiger entirely, as the creature, somewhat jolted, recoiled to the ground in front.

Thakur, coming to his knees, aimed at the spot where the tiger crouched, but as he fired the second barrel, the furred fury made another high, hard spring, clearing the path of aim. Again, the cage was jarred, and now Thakur, desperate, grabbed a spear from Chandra and jabbed wildly through the bars, blindly trying to drive off the snarling killer that he could not see.

Given time, Thakur might have made a telling thrust; but meanwhile, the tiger threatened to maul the cage apart. The framework was splintering under the fierce stroke of its claws. With each new spring, the iron bars were loosened. Barma Shah and the others on the platforms could not open fire with their rifles, for Thakur, so far, had failed to drive the tiger back. In the darkness, their shots would be more likely to hit Thakur or the boys.

The clanging echoes carried far down the gully, where Biff was puzzled by the lack of rifle fire, but not for long. Biff realized what must be going on, when the clashing sounds continued; and so did the men in back. Their grunts practically said, “Get going!” as did the clicks from their rifles, when they released the safety catches.

Biff got going, as he had been told to do in such an emergency. He gunned the jeep into life, shot it straight up the gully, guiding by the outline of the clearing against the starry sky. The speeding jeep wallowed in the gully’s slopes, then reached the open ground as Biff clicked on the lights and jammed the brakes.

The sudden glare outlined the whole front of the cage, showing the tiger turning, snarling at the sound of the jeep’s approaching roar. Briefly, the tiger was blinded and helpless, giving the men in the jeep their opportunity. They sprang out, dodged over toward the brush, and opened fire. One shot grazed the tiger; another clipped him, as he bounded away from the cage, spun in the air and sprawled beyond the light.

The shikaris from the jeep started over to examine their prize, but paused when warning shouts came from both the cage and the tree platforms. Half-stunned, the tiger picked itself up, snarled at the two shikaris as they dived away from the light. Then the tiger itself took to the darkness on the other side, but not in flight.

It had another purpose. It wanted to claw, to rip apart its real tormentor, the thing with the blazing eyes that had interrupted the tiger’s efforts to reach its caged prey. That thing was the jeep. In the darkness, the wounded tiger turned suddenly upon it.

Biff raised a shout as he heard an approaching snarl. The jeep heaved upward, sideward as the tiger’s bulk hit it between hood and windshield. In the dim glow from the dashlight, Biff could see the monstrous, clawing shape of the man-killer as it gathered itself for a final spring upon the new prey it had so unexpectedly found.

Through Biff’s stunned mind ran the freakish notion that whatever luck the Light of the Lama had brought him, the ruby’s charm had lost its power by now.