13 Tiger Adventure

by Willard Price

  Hal picked up his bag of remedies, and left.

  Roger fed the animals - but that didn’t take long. He was a very active boy and wanted something to do. Why not take a little ride?

  He climbed into the truck, and set out. He didn’t expect to meet any wild beasts on the road. He enjoyed the fresh air, and the sounds that came from the forest. There was the

  chattering of a langur monkey. He heard a whistling sound. He guessed that it was the voice of the bird called the Whistling Schoolboy. Morning and evening, this bird pours out its song while in flight, whistling in a soft, sweet minor key a song that has no beginning and no end.

  He heard a peacock give its piercing call from the topmost branch of a giant tree. And he heard other birds that he had come to know - the drongos, golden orioles, and rosy pastors which drank the nectar of the samal flowers. Kingfishers went skimming over the river. A horned owl had settled for the day on a branch of the pipal tree overhanging the stream.

  The trees swarmed with fly-catchers, woodpeckers, bul-buls with red whiskers, and three kinds of sunbirds - red, purple, and green.

  What a paradise the Gir Forest was for all sorts of wildlife.

  He was a happy boy - but not so happy when his engine went dead halfway up a gentle slope.

  Roger thought he saw something strange out of the corner of his eye. He turned his eyes full upon it. What he saw made him perspire. A magnificent tiger was lying on a rock at the side of the road. Here the boy was sitting in an open truck that wouldn’t go. The tiger could reach him in two leaps.

  Roger shivered as if he had some of the ague that afflicted the three crooks. There was nothing to prevent the tiger from hopping into the truck and making a breakfast of the driver.

  But the tiger looked very sleepy. He gazed at the boy and the truck with half-closed eyes. He was evidently full of food and had no desire to make a meal of this fine boy.

  What had he eaten, and where was it? He had killed something, had eaten as much as he could hold, and left the rest for another meal later.

  What he had killed and partly eaten could not be far away. Roger quietly slipped out of the truck, walked up the slope, and then into the forest.

  He searched for two hours before he found it - the remains of a chital deer.

  Roger knew what he must do. He went back to his truck. The tiger had disappeared. This time the engine came to life and Roger turned about and headed for home.

  Hal was not there. He must be at the barn-house. Roger drove up there and walked in.

  Hal was tending his patients as they squirmed and wriggled, freezing cold one moment and boiling hot the next.

  ‘Come away for a minute,’ Roger said. ‘I want to tell you something. I’m going to get a tiger.’

  Hal laughed. ‘A hundred-and-thirty-pound boy is going to get a five-or six-hundred-pound tiger. That’s a good joke.’

  ‘No, I’m in earnest. I’ve seen the tiger and I’ve seen the ‘kill’ that he had been feeding on. It was a chital and there’s a lot of meat there still, Some time between now and morning the tiger will be coming back to eat more. I’m going to be there, and I’ll get him.’

  ‘If he doesn’t get you,’ Hal said,

  ‘He won’t get me. I’ll be on a machan up in a tree. I may have to stay there all night. I thought you ought to know, so you wouldn’t come hunting for me.’

  Hal said, ‘Listen, kid brother. You’re too young to challenge the king of beasts.’

  ‘I’m going to try,’ Roger said. ‘If you have any advice to give me, spill it now.’

  Hal saw that his brother was determined. ‘I wish I could go with you,’ he said, ‘but I’ve got to stick here with my patients. If you must go, here are a few tips. Build your tree platform, what they call a machan, about twenty feet up in the tree. Just remember that a tiger can make a leap straight up fifteen feet. If you build your platform at less than fifteen feet, he’ll get you. There are some boards near the cabin. You’re a good carpenter -I know you’ll make a good solid machan so if you go to sleep you won’t fall off. Take a sleep-gun with you. And be sure to dress warmly. With the wind coming down from the snows on the mountains, you need to have plenty on in order to keep warm. Take a torch so that you can see the animal plainly when you shoot.’

  ‘Is that all?’

  That’s all I can tell you. After you put the tiger to sleep, how are you going to hoist him on to the truck? He’ll weigh about a quarter of a ton. I don’t know how you’re going to do it. I don’t believe you can, so why not just give up this crazy idea?’

  ‘No thanks,’ Roger replied. ‘I’ll figure out a way to get him up on to the truck.’

  Take care of yourself. Your mother and father would never forgive me if anything happened to you.’

  Roger drove back to the cabin to get what he needed - the boards, nails, a hammer, torch and sleep-gun - also a couple of extra sweaters to put on when the night became cold.

  Then he drove back to the kill. He climbed a tree not far from the dead chital, and about twenty feet up he found two level branches that would make a good support for his machan. He got to work at once, but it was sunset before he finished his job.

  Then he lay down and rested. But it was a restless rest. He was tormented by the problem that his brother had not been able to solve. Suppose the tiger came and ate, and was put to sleep - what then?

  Roger wondered how he was going to get a beast four times his own weight up into the truck.

  Suddenly it came to him. He climbed down the tree, went to the remains of the chital, picked them up one piece at a time, and put them into the back of the truck. Then he clambered back to his platform.

  He was welcomed by a low growl. It was now quite dark but Roger recognised that growl. It was the same as the voice of the leopard who was already in a cage.

  A leopard had found his platform and considered it a very convenient place to spend the night. Roger could not see the animal but the leopard had very keen eyes and was a night animal, quite able to see Roger. It slashed out at his head and came away with its claws full of hair. Roger had wanted a haircut but hadn’t expected to get it from a leopard.

  He turned on his torch and focused the light straight into the leopard’s eyes. This form of attack was new to the leopard and it didn’t like it. It backed off to the tree trunk, scratched its way down to the ground and Roger could hear it sneaking off through the bushes.

  The boy took his place on the platform that had already been warmed up for him. It didn’t stay warm, and it was necessary to put on the two sweaters.

  Now there was nothing to do but wait, wait, wait.

  No matter how hot the day, a night in India can be really cold. Especially with the snow-covered Himalayas acting like a refrigerator.

  Hours passed. Still no sign of the tiger. And no sound. Roger shivered and shifted trying to find a position that was comfortable. He strained his eyes and ears until they felt like tentacles reaching out towards the truck.

  Was it all worth while? It was dinner time. He should be in the warm cabin, eating, instead of chattering like a monkey waiting probably for nothing to happen. Hunting was not all it was cracked up to be.

  At midnight a tired old moon rose to look in on his foolishness. Its weak light revealed a clearing as quiet as a morgue.

  Roger dozed - then was wakened by the excitement of birds. Looking into the clearing he saw a massive shadow approaching the truck.

  Swiftly and painfully he got his gun into position. ‘Thanks to moonlight he could dimly see the tiger leap into the truck and begin to eat. Roger turned on his torch and fired the sleep-gun. His aim was good. It was not a difficult shot because the animal was so large that you could hardly fail to hit it. The tiger roared. All the creatures in the forest screamed. The great beast stood for a moment, then his legs gave away under him and he slumped to the floor of the truck.

  He struggled again to a standing position and looked about to find his enemy. Suppose the me
dicine in the dart had just numbed him and he would not fall asleep? The tiger was no longer interested in the kill. Roger was the kill now. He had been the hunter, now he was the hunted. That was not Roger’s idea of adventure at all. A hunter should make things happen, not sit dumbly in a tree and wait for something to happen to him.

  It was terrible - that waiting. The pipal tree where Roger had built his machan seemed to tremble although there was no breeze. The local people used to say that this constant movement of pipal leaves was due to evil spirits that inhabit the tree. A more scientific explanation is that the pipal leaf has a long twisted stem like that of the aspen, and quivers in the slightest breath. But Roger thought that the tree was shaking because he was.

  Roger used his torch again. Now the tiger was lying down and there was no doubt about it, the gun had put him to sleep.

  Roger had found a way to get the big heavy beast into the truck and he had done it without raising a finger. In fact, the dead chital had done it for him. Because the remains of the chital had been put into the truck the tiger had leaped in of his own accord and was now sound asleep and ready to take a ride to the camp.

  Roger came down, leaving the platform for the leopard. Dawn was breaking as he drove home with his valuable cargo.

  Hal had just returned to the cabin after his long night vigil. Roger backed up the truck to the open door of a cage. It was just in time. The tiger was waking up. He stood, still very sleepy and’ unsteady, but when the two boys got behind him and pushed, he did manage to move. He wobbled off the truck and into the cage. The cage door was closed.

  ‘Wonderful!’ Hal said. ‘How in the world did you get him up off the ground into the truck? You’re a strong boy, but not that strong. How did you do it?’

  Roger smiled. ‘It’s a secret. But I’ll tell you since you’re my brother. You just use a little magic. You say, ‘Abracadabra, abracadabra,’ and the tiger is on the truck.’

  Chapter 15

  Roger Goes to Jail

  Dad wanted a tiger,’ said Roger. ‘We got two for him. So we don’t need any more tigers.’

  Hal did not agree. He said, ‘Every zoo that amounts to anything wants a tiger. And they will pay a lot to get the world’s greatest cat. Dad can sell all the tigers we can find. But we want other things too. How about just riding out to see what can be found?’

  ‘Will you go with me?’

  ‘Afraid not. Vic almost died last night. The others aren’t much better. I’ll have to stick around.’

  Roger said bitterly, Too bad you have to waste time on them. They’re not worth it.’

  ‘You don’t mean that,’ Hal said. ‘Even if they were dogs you wouldn’t want them to die.’

  ‘But they aren’t dogs,’ Roger protested. They aren’t as good as dogs.’

  Hal knew how Roger felt. The boy had been up all night. No wonder he was a bit cross.

  Big brother went to take care of his patients - who would never thank him for his trouble. Roger got into the truck and drove off, looking for - what?

  After more than an hour of driving, the ‘what’ that appeared was a golden cat.

  Roger had been reading about the golden cat in his brother’s Dictionary of Wildlife. It was a very rare and extremely handsome animal. Hunters who had come before him had spent months looking for one without success.

  According to the book, the golden cat would become very affectionate with its owner, but was always savage in the forest and the villages. It was very powerful, with sharp claws and teeth. It preyed upon sheep, goats and even buffalo calves and birds.

  The one he saw before him looked like a solid chunk of gold. Its golden coat glowed in the sunlight. It had no stripes, no rosettes, it was just pure gold. And it was worth pure gold. There was one in the London Zoo that had been shown on a television programme, a beautiful and magnificent cat. Most zoos were not rich enough to buy one. And usually there was none for sale.

  Dad had not asked the boys to get a golden cat, because he knew it was almost impossible. And yet, here was one gazing curiously at the truck and Roger as if he were only waiting to be taken.

  Here was a job for the sleep-gun. Roger aimed very carefully and fired. The little dart pierced the skin so lightly that it was not even noticed. The sleep-gun makes no noise, and does no damage. It just makes the animal curl up and forget the world. The sleep lasts about half an hour.

  The fine four-foot-long bar of gold stood for a moment still gazing, then sank down and snoozed.

  Roger went to see whether the animal was sound asleep. He touched the cat with the toe of his shoe and there was no movement. He took out the dart and threw it away.

  How could he get this beauty into the truck? He would have to carry it, but it probably weighed more than he did. However his weight didn’t matter so much as his muscles, and they were strong. He was a little nervous as he looked at those sharp teeth and long claws.

  He was about to reach for the cat when a snarl came from the bushes and another golden cat rushed out and stood over the sleeping one. This must be the mate. He need not have had any fear that the second cat would charge him, since the cat was only interested in protecting the one asleep.

  Roger sent a dart into the cat’s flank. For a moment nothing changed. Then the second cat settled down over the first, both asleep.

  What good luck! Two goldens instead of one! Roger very carefully put his arms around the top cat, carried it to the truck, and put it in the cage. Then he did exactly the same with the other.

  He was ready to go home with his booty when a police car drove up and stopped beside the truck. A gruff voice demanded, ‘What’s going on here?’

  The policeman got out of his car and looked at the two animals in the cage. He saw the gun in Roger’s hand.

  ‘So, you’ve killed two golden cats.’

  ‘I didn’t kill them. I just put them to sleep.’

  ‘You’ve killed two of the finest cats in the world. Don’t you know that the Gir Forest is a sanctuary for wildlife? Anybody who shoots game here will go to prison.’

  This is not a gun for bullets,’ Roger said. ‘It just uses a little dart to put an animal to sleep.’

  ‘A likely story! ‘ He peered into the cage. ‘Where are the bullet holes?’

  ‘You won’t find any bullet holes. These cats will wake up before we get to the police station. I know that’s where you want to take me.’

  ‘You are making things worse by lying to me.’ said the angry officer.

  ‘Let me explain,’ Roger said. ‘My father is a collector of wild animals for zoos. He sends me and my brother out to get the animals. We have special permission to hunt in the Gir Forest.’

  ‘Do you have a hunting licence?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Let me see it.’

  ‘My brother has it.’

  Then it’s his licence, not yours. I’ve had enough of your lies. Come along to the station.’

  As they went into the station Roger said, ‘Your sergeant knows us. He will explain everything to you.’

  The policeman snorted. ‘He’s gone. I’m the new sergeant. And believe me, you’re going to get the limit for what you are doing - hunting without a licence.’

  The licence was made out by the Chief of Police in New Delhi. It gives my father, John Hunt, and his sons, the right to take animals from the Gir Forest for zoos where they will be protected and aren’t likely to be shot by hippies roaming around in the forest with real guns. My brother is taking care of three fellows who are very sick because they were stung by bees.’

  ‘Stung by bees!’ scoffed the sergeant, ‘Bee-stings don’t make you sick,’

  These were killer bees. They not only make you sick, they may kill you.’

  ‘Another tall story! I’ve been stung by bees and you can see that I am very much alive.’

  These were bees of another kind. One of the fellows who were stung nearly died last night.’

  ‘Do all the people in your country lie
the way you do? It’s been nothing but lies since I saw your two dead cats.’

  A snarl was his answer, and it didn’t come from Roger. ‘You think the cats are dead, take a look at them now.’

  The sergeant went to the door and looked. The two cats were awake and active, rubbing up against each other affectionately.

  Those are very valuable cats.’ the sergeant said. ‘Did you think you could steal them and get away with it?’

  ‘I tell you I had a permit, or, rather, we did - the whole family. Will you let me use the phone?’

  He telephoned Hal who was taking care of his three patients.

  ‘Hal, I’m in the police station. They won’t believe that we have a permit. Can you bring it up here right away?’

  ‘But I’m busy.’

  ‘If you don’t bring that permit up here I’ll end up in prison. They accuse me of stealing - well, I won’t tell you just what. I want you to see for yourself when you get here. It’s something wonderful. Be sure to bring the permit.’

  Hal grumbled, ‘What stupid thing have you done to get yourself in jail?’

  ‘I’ve picked up two - you’ll see when you get here.’

  ‘All right. I have some things to do first. Then I’ll borrow the Land-Rover that belongs to these three fellows and I’ll come up. It may be a couple of hours.’

  Roger spoke to the sergeant. ‘My brother will be here in two hours - with the permit. May I sit here in the lobby until he comes?’

  ‘You may not. It’s for guests, not for crooks. You’ll step into that cell. It may be a bit buggy, and I hope it is. You’re probably going to get something a lot worse than that later on.’

  The cell was more than ‘a bit buggy’. Rats, cockroaches, bedbugs and fleas were Roger’s companions. The two hours seemed more like six.

  Finally Hal arrived.

  ‘I’m Hal Hunt,’ he said to the sergeant. ‘Can you let my brother out now?’

  ‘Not until I see the permit.’

  Hal stared. The permit! Oh, I forgot to bring the permit.’

  Roger called from the cell, ‘Who’s stupid now?’