But just then a lot of children came running over to our hut and
crying out: "Tigers, ohoi, the tigers!" A child had been snapped up by a
tiger quite close to the village, in a thicket between it and the river.
That was enough for Glahn, drunk as he was, and cut up about something
into the bargain. He picked up his rifle and raced off at once to the
thicket--didn't even put on his hat. But why did he take his rifle
instead of a shot-gun, if he was really as plucky as all that? He had to
wade across the river, and that was rather a risky thing in itself--but
then, the river was nearly dry now, till the rains. A little later I
heard two shots, and then, close on them, a third. Three shots at a
single beast, I thought; why, a lion would have fallen for two, and this
was only a tiger! But even those three shots were no use: the child was
torn to bits and half eaten by the time Glahn come up. If he hadn't been
drunk he wouldn't have made the attempt to save it.
He spent the night drinking and rioting in the hut next door. For two
days he was never sober for a minute, and he had found a lot of
companions, too, to drink with him. He begged me in vain to take part in
the orgy. He was no longer careful of what he said, and taunted me with
being jealous of him.
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