"Make for that tree, and close to it you will see a spring. Follow
that down. It will take you to the village."
After walking for six hours, they came to the village. It was a place
of some little size, but there were few people about. Women came to
the doors to look at Surajah and Dick as they came along.
"Where are you from?" an old man asked, as he came out from his
cottage.
"From down the mountain side. Tigers are getting scarce there, and we
thought we would come over and see what we could do, here."
"Here there are many tigers," the old man said. "For the last twenty
years, the wars have taken most of our young men away. Some are forced
to go against their will; for when the order comes, to the head man of
the village, that the sultan requires so many soldiers, he is forced
to pick out those best fitted for service. Others go of their own free
will, thinking soldiering easier work than tilling the fields, besides
the chance of getting rich booty. So there are but few shikarees, and
the tigers multiply and are a curse to us.
"We are but poor people, but if you choose to stay here for a time, we
will pay something for every tiger you kill; and we will send round to
the other villages, within ten miles, and doubtless every one of them
will contribute, so that you might get enough to pay you for your
exertions.
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