We had been having very fair sport on and off for about six weeks, and the animals in the jungles close around the station seemed to have been all killed off or driven away; for a whole week passed, and no _khubber_ good enough to tempt even me did our shikarees bring. It was the seventh blank day, and as we sat at our _chota hazri_ (early morning cup of some invigorating but harmless beverage), under the shade of a splendid mango-tree which grew conveniently close to our messhouse veranda, my chum and I were discussing the necessity of taking a week’s trip across the river which skirted our station, and were trying to cajole our companions into letting us have the use of the elephants for so long a time. We had nearly succeeded in persuading them of the uselessness of expecting to get any more shooting close to Julbarri, and two of the least enthusiastic of our Nimrods had actually given in, when into the compound and right up to our table who should dash but Jamala, the very best and most trustworthy of all our shikarees! Almost breathless, he stammered out: ‘Sahib, sahib, two such huge tigers! Their pugs are as big as that;’ and he described with the end of the stick he held in his hand a figure in the dust, intended to portray the size of their footprints, which would have done credit to a well-grown mammoth. ‘They have killed a bullock in the Kala jungle, only six miles off; and I am sure they were still there when I left half an hour ago. I ordered the elephants to be got ready as I passed the lines.’ Here was news with a vengeance; but alas, it was my turn to stay in cantonments; and with such splendid _khubber_ as this I could not, of course, even hint the suggestion of an exchange. It was the custom of those going out, to borrow all the firearms of those remaining behind; so I and Castleton, who was my comrade in misfortune, made over our Joe Manton guns and our Purdeys to our luckier companions, and wished them good speed with the best grace we could muster; and if we betrayed our feelings a little by throwing after them the parting exhortation, ‘Mind you don’t miss the fifteen-footer,’ well, I really think we ought to be forgiven. Castleton was a married man; and I must crave the ladies’ pardon for omitting in my list of our Julbarri residents the really charming Mrs Castleton and her fascinating sister, Miss Jervoise. As soon as the hunters had gone, Castleton turned to me, and said: ‘You had better come over and lunch with us, Watson. You’ll only be breaking your heart over visions of those two fabulously footed tigers, if you lunch at mess alone.’