Suddenly the dogs halted, barked, and uttered a plaintive cry; the officers brought their rifles forward, but, not perceiving the tiger, they carefully walked forward, ready to fire on the instant. At this moment a Shikari called out that there was something on the road, and the next instant that it was the man who had been carried off. All then hastened up to him, and found him weltering in a pool of blood, which, on interrogating him, they found was not his own; it was almost entirely that of the tiger. The poor fellow had been so shaken and exhausted that at first he could scarcely explain himself; however, a small dose of brandy, the sense of safety, and the encouragement he received from all round him, soon restored him sufficiently to enable him to explain how he had effected his marvellous escape. It further appeared, both by his own statement and that of the surgeon (who was one of those who had gone in pursuit), that though his side was torn and lacerated by the teeth of the beast, he had sustained no broken bones, nor, indeed, any actual injury. His story was this: at first he was so stunned by the shock of the tiger's spring that he was hardly conscious of the grip that fastened on him, or of the spring which carried him out of the camp; his first feeling of consciousness informed him of his position, and that he was being rapidly carried along to be devoured at leisure. The prospect was so unpleasant that he bethought him whether there was any possible mode of extrication. He had his bayonet with him, having, when seized, just come off guard. This 'Koodah-ki-fuzzul sey,' as he said, put it into his head to attempt to get free. The skin and flesh of his left side was in the tiger's mouth, and his right hand and arm were free. With his hand he felt for the heart of the tiger, then slowly drawing his bayonet out, he placed the point of it between the animal's ribs, just opposite the beat. Having thus prepared matters, he drove in the point with his whole strength, and with such effect that the tiger, making a spring and a cry at the same time, let his prey fall, and after limping a step or two fell down, himself bleeding copiously. He, however, rallied so far as to be able to crawl on farther, but, added the little hero (a Sepoy, five feet one inch in height), 'I am certain he cannot go far.' On hearing this, the pursuit was immediately resumed; the doctor, greatly to his annoyance, was ordered to remain by the side of the sepoy, who, as soon as a dhooly could be got, was carried in a sort of cradle back to the camp. His story was so wonderful, and his escape so extraordinary, that had not the doctor's orders been peremptory, the poor little fellow would have had no sleep all the night; such numbers were anxious to see him, and to hear him repeat the narrative of his defeat of the 'burrah bhague.' Indeed, it is said that for a week after he was out of hospital he was still called on occasionally to tell the story.