t the building, as
if trying to learn the point whence the shot came, that he might punish
the offenders.

"Gracious!" exclaimed Jim Travers, "he's going to jump up here and eat us
up! Let's run."

"Where'll we run?" was the sensible question of Tom. "I'd load up again,
but the powder and bullets are down-stairs, and before I could do it he'd
be on us, if he means to jump into this window."

The halt of the tiger was only momentary. He trotted round to the rear of
the house, vanishing from sight for the moment.

A brilliant idea struck Jim Travers.

"I can do better than that, Tom," he called out, clattering down-stairs.
"Come with me, and I'll show you."

"Are you going to try to look him in the eye?" asked Tom, following after
him, and scarcely less excited than he. "It won't work."

But the other lad paid no attention to the inquiry, so flurried was he
over his new scheme for frightening off the dreaded beast.

The closing of the shutters on the lower floor, as we have explained, cast
it in deep shadow. The mother had been so thorough in her work, that all
the three rooms were thus obscured. Aunt Cynthia had lit a lamp, which sat
on the table, and served to light up the interior.

"What do you mean to do?" she asked of the boys, as they rushed into her
presence.

"I'm going to load the gun," replied Tom. "I don't know what Jim is
driving at."

The women were naturally alarmed at the persistency of the wild animal in
his demonstration against the dwelling. It did look as if he was bent on
revenging himself for the hurt that had been inflicted. Many of the wild
beasts of India, like the frightful cobra, often show great tenacity in
attacking those from whom they have received injury.

"If the tiger will go away, you had better leave him alone," said Aunt
Cynthia. "Your shot doesn't seem to have hurt him at all."

"Yes, it did," insisted Tom. "I hit him, for he jumped."

"But you only made him more angry; I am afraid we are not through with him
yet."

The rifle was of the old-fashioned, muzzle-loading kind, and Aunt Cynthia
gave what help she could to her nephew, as he began reloading it. From the
powder flask she poured a charge down the barrel, upon which Tom pressed
the conical bullet, wrapped about with a small bit of greased muslin. Then
he had only to place a percussion-cap on the tube, and he was ready for
business.

But before this stage of the proceedings was reached, something startling
ha