"Takur Gulab-Lal-Sing
is not here to protect us."
Our Hindu companions sat on the carpet after their oriental fashion,
quietly chewing betel. On being asked their opinion, they said
they would not interfere with our decision, and were ready to do
exactly as we liked. But as for the European portion of our party,
there was no use concealing the fact that we were frightened, and
we speedily prepared to start. Five minutes later we mounted the
elephants, and, in a quarter of an hour, just when the sun disappeared
behind the mountain and heavy darkness instantaneously fell, we
passed the gate of Akbar and descended into the valley.
We were hardly a quarter of a mile from our abandoned camping place
when the cypress grove resounded with shrieking howls of jackals,
followed by a well-known mighty roar. There was no longer any
possibility of doubting. The tigers were disappointed at our escape.
Their discontentment shook the very air, and cold perspiration
stood on our brows. Our elephant sprang forward, upsetting the
order of our procession and threatening to crush the horses and
their riders before us. We ourselves, however, were out of danger.
We sat in a strong howdah, locked as in a dungeon.
"It is useless to deny that we have had a narrow escape!" remarked
the colonel, looking out of the window at some twenty servants of
the Patel, who were busily lighting torches.
Brahmanic Hospitalities
In an hour's time we stopped at the gate of a large bungalow, and
were welcomed by the beaming face of our bareheaded Bengali.
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