There was a roar like the sound of a small cannon (the biggest sort of elephant-rifle is not very different from some artillery), and a double streak of flame, followed by the stinging crack of a Martini, whose long bullet makes nothing of a crocodile’s plates. But the explosive bullets did the work. One of them struck just behind the Mugger’s neck, a hand’s-breadth to the left of the backbone, while the other burst a little lower down, at the beginning of the tail. In ninety-nine cases out of a hundred a mortally-wounded crocodile can scramble to deep water and get away; but the Mugger of Mugger-Ghaut was literally broken into three pieces. He hardly moved his head before the life went out of him, and he lay as flat as the Jackal. “Thunder and lightning! Lightning and thunder!” said that miserable little beast. “Has the thing that pulls the covered carts over the bridge tumbled at last?” “It is no more than a gun,” said the Adjutant, though his very tail-feathers quivered. “Nothing more than a gun. He is certainly dead. Here come the white-faces.” The two Englishmen had hurried down from the bridge and across to the sand-bar, where they stood admiring the length of the Mugger. Then a native with an axe cut off the big head, and four men dragged it across the spit. “The last time that I had my hand in a Mugger’s mouth,” said one of the Englishmen, stooping down (he was the man who had built the bridge), “it was when I was about five years old--coming down the river by boat to Monghyr. I was a Mutiny baby, as they call it. Poor mother was in the boat, too, and she often told me how she fired dad’s old pistol at the beast’s head.” “Well, you’ve certainly had your revenge on the chief of the clan--even if the gun has made your nose bleed. Hi, you boatmen! Haul that head up the bank, and we’ll boil it for the skull. The skin’s too knocked about to keep. Come along to bed now. This was worth sitting up all night for, wasn’t it?” ***** Curiously enough, the Jackal and the Adjutant made the very same remark not three minutes after the men had left. A RIPPLE SONG Once a ripple came to land In the golden sunset burning-- Lapped against a maiden’s hand, By the ford returning. Dainty foot and gentle breast-- Here, across, be glad and rest. “Maiden, wait,” the ripple saith. “Wait awhile, for I am Death!” “Where my lover calls I go-- Shame it were to treat him coldly-- ‘Twas a fish that circled so, Turning over boldly.” Dainty foot and tender heart, Wait the loaded ferry-cart. “Wait, ah, wait!” the ripple saith; “Maiden, wait, for I am Death!” “When my lover calls I haste-- Dame Disdain was never wedded!” Ripple-ripple round her waist, Clear the current eddied. Foolish heart and faithful hand, Little feet that touched no land. Far away the ripple sped, Ripple--ripple--running red!