Drawing lots, it fell to my chance to fire: I crept gently up, and aiming well, I fired--but for my sorrow, the beast was sleeping with his face covered by his paw; and the ball, piercing the paw, hit him in the neck. Aroused by the report and by the pain, the tiger gave a roar, and with a couple of bounds, dashed at me before I had time to draw my dagger: with one leap, he hurled me on the ground, trode on me with his hind feet, and I only know that at this moment there resounded a cry, and the shot of Ammalát, and afterwards a deafening and tremendous roar. Crushed by the weight, I lost sense and memory, and how long I lay in this fainting fit, I know not. "When I opened my eyes all was still around me, a small rain was falling from a thick mist ... was it evening or morning? My gun, covered with rust, lay beside me, Ammalát's not far off, broken in two; here and there the stones were stained with blood ... but whose? The tiger's or Ammalát's? How can I tell? Broken twigs lay around ... the brute must have broken them in his mad boundings. I called on my comrade as loudly as I could. No answer. I sat down, and shouted again ... but in vain. Neither animal nor bird passed by. Many times did I endeavour to find traces of Ammalát, either to discover him alive, or to die upon his corpse--that I might avenge on the beast the death of the brave man; but I had no strength. I wept bitterly: why have I perished both in life and honour! I determined to await the hour of death in the wilderness; but hunger conquered me. Alas! thought I, let me carry to Khounzákh the news that Ammalát has perished; let me at least die among my own people! Behold me, then; I have crept hither like a serpent. Brethren, my head is before you: judge me as Allah inclines your hearts. Sentence me to life; I will live, remembering your justice: condemn me to death; your will be done! I will die innocent, Allah is my witness: I did what I could!" A murmur arose among the people, as they listened to the new comer. Some excused, others condemned, though all regretted him. "Every one must take care of himself," said some of the accusers: "who can say that he did not fly? He has no wound, and, therefore, no proof ... but that he has abandoned his comrade is most certain." "Not only abandoned, but perhaps betrayed him," said others--"they talked not as friends together!" The Khan's noúkers went further: they suspected that the Ouzdén had killed Ammalát out of jealousy: "he looked too lovingly on the Khan's daughter, but the Khan's daughter found one far his superior in Ammalát."