Upon the following day our friend destroyed a jackal and two conies, which consoled him somewhat in the dearth of tigers, and we rode forward resolutely, asking our question at each village as we went along.
Everywhere we were assured that there were really tigers in the mountain, and from some of the villages young sportsmen who owned guns insisted upon joining our excursion, which showed that they themselves believed such game existed.

But their adherence, though it gave us hope, was tiresome, for they smoked our cigarettes and ate our food.
At last, towards sunset on the seventh evening of our expedition, we saw a wretched-looking village on the heights with no trees near it, and only meagre strips of cultivation on little terraces, like ledges, of the slope below.
Our friend had just been telling me that he was weary of this wild-goose chase, with all the rascals upon earth adhering to us.

He did not now believe that there were tigers in the mountain, nor did I.
And we had quite agreed to start for home upon the morrow, when the people of that miserable village galloped down to greet us with delighted shouts, as if they had been waiting for us all their lives.
'What is your will ?' inquired the elders of the place, obsequiously.
'Tigers,' was our reply.

'Say, O old man, are there any tigers in your neighbourhood ?' The old man flung up both his hands to heaven, and his face became transfigured as in ecstasy.

He shouted: 'Is it tigers you desire?
This, then, is the place where you will dwell content.