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Updated: May 20, 2025
Two Hindoo ryots always called goudas in Manjarabad from a neighbouring village were with me, and were keeping a sharp look out. We were all quite concealed in the long grass.
A shout of 'The bull is going, from the goudas, made me look back, and just as he was starting I hastily fired my second barrel into his shoulder and dropped him dead. We then went to look for the tiger, but, most unfortunately, the rain, which up to this time had kept off, descended in torrents, and the whole country became enveloped in dense mist.
My goudas became frantic at this, and seeing that there was now no chance of a fight between the bull and the tiger, I rushed along the hill with the view of trying to get a good shot at the latter, but this I found would be impossible, so I rested my rifle on a stamp, and, as he moved through the scrub, took a long shot, which knocked him off his legs, and we saw him partly roll and partly scramble into the dense jungle below.
Except now and then, when the bushes were low, I doubt if it could see the bull, nor could the latter scent the tiger, for the bull was feeding down the valley in the teeth of the strong monsoon winds, and the tiger was following in its tracks. "As the two goudas sitting with me in the long grass observed the movements of the tiger, they could not contain their indignation.
The tiger struck me as being a small one, and the goudas thought so too. It was probably the same one that had some weeks before killed a three-parts-grown bison, the remains of which we saw when on the way to the spot. The bull was a magnificent animal, and just in his prime.
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