His mind was of that dogged type which often distinguishes men of his profession. From his boyhood it had been his meat and drink to struggle with difficulties and overcome them. The more arduous the task the better it pleased him, and the mere fact of his having entertained the possibility of undertaking it was stimulus sufficient to make him carry it through. By sympathy in the first place and severe personal effort crowned by partial success in the second, he had worked himself up to strong interest in this work of rescue, and passionate determination that nothing should be wanting on his part to bring it to a successful issue. All the force, all the dogged resolution of his nature was aroused. Working for the master whose kindliness and grace had won his attachment, he was also working for himself, that no man in the future might relate how Bâl Narîn had failed in the task he took in hand. It was in this mood that the new idea met him, and he set himself immediately to work it out. On the robbers' road, where he had been told he might find the fugitives, he had seen indications which led him to believe that he was on their track. If these indications continued he would know, as far as it was possible to know anything, that the fugitives were on ahead of him. If, on the other hand, they stopped at any particular point, there would be every reason to suppose that the road had been abandoned, in which case he saw that there would be nothing for him to do but to try the likeliest of the jungle paths. Quietly he stole on. A few yards ahead of the spot where he had paused to take his bearings the road was crossed by a path wider than itself, and of such character and appearance as to be almost certain to mislead any but the dwellers in the jungle, or those who, like Bâl Narîn, had traversed it so often as to be fully acquainted with all its peculiarities. He happened to know it, for it led to a little marsh surrounded lake where the tigers went down at night to quench their thirst, and near which he had waited for them more than once with European sportsmen. He had lighted his lamp meanwhile, for he always carried one in his belt, and with its help he was examining the ground. Close to the opening of this jungle-road, where it turned off the road to the right, he found a third bead. He went on for some distance and saw nothing, then he retraced his steps. A conviction amounting almost to certainty had come to him that it was down this pathway those poor souls had gone. If so he must follow them. Having looked well to the priming of his revolver, and taken from its sheath the short, murderous-looking knife, which he had used several times with effect in close encounters with his fierce jungle-foes, Bâl Narîn adventured himself into the wild beasts' highway.