Son of Power. Will Levington Comfort

ear."

      The other laughed. "It's such a novelty to find you are not a liar—with all you know and have been through. I'll stop that nasty business of testing you. Hear me, from now on, I'm done!"

      Hours passed; it was after midnight. The waning moon was rising. They could tell the light through the trees. Cadman had smoked again, but Skag still expressed an unwillingness.

      "It doesn't want to, now," he said.

      "Oh, it doesn't—"

      "I have persuaded it to think of other things. It is working for me."

      Cadman swore softly, genially. "I never forget anything, son," he whispered. "Never anything like that."

      "Old Alec said I should never let a day pass without doing something I didn't want to—or without something I wanted. He said it was better than developing muscle."

      "Some brand of calisthenics—that. And he was the old one with the rose-jar?"

      Skag's hand lifted toward the other and Cadman's met his.

      There was a wet, meaty growl, indescribably low-pitched—but no chance even to shout—only to huddle back together to the farthest corner. The beast had stalked faultlessly and pounced, landing upon the thin cross pieces of bamboo, but short of the bait. Down the twelve feet he came with a tearing hiss of fright and rage. Something like a muffled crash of pottery, it was, mixed with dull choking explosions. The air of the pit seemed charged with furious power that whipped the leaves to shreds.

      "The pistol, Skag—"

      They were free, so far, from the rending claws. The younger man's brain was full of light. Cadman Sahib's voice had never been more calm.

      Skag drew a match, not the gun. He scratched the match and held it high in front. They saw the great cowering creature like a fallen pony in size—but untellably more vivid in line—the chest not more than seven feet from them, the head held far back, the near front paw lifted against them as if to parry a blow.

      Skag changed the match from his right hand to his left. When the flame burned low, he tossed it on the ground, half way between them and the tiger. There was a forward movement of the beast's spine—a little lower and forward. The lifted paw curved in, but did not touch the ground. The last light of the match, as it turned red, seemed bright in the beast's bared mouth. In it all there was the dramatic reality of a dream that questions not.

      "He's badly frightened," Skag said.

      No sound from Cadman Sahib.

      "It's too big for him," Skag went on calmly. "He thinks we put over the whole thing on him. It's too big for him to tackle. Wonder if he's got a mate?"

      One big green eye burned now in the pit—steady as a beacon and turned to them, enfolding them. Cadman Sahib cleared his throat.

      "All right to talk?" he asked huskily.

      "Sure. It will help—"

      He cleared his throat again and inquired in an enticing tone: "You actually don't mean to use the pistol?"

      "I'm not a crack-shot," Skag said queerly.

      "You might pass it to me. I'm supposed to be—"

      "It is bad light."

      "And then again, you might not," Cadman laughed softly. "I've got you, son—"

      "I will do as you say," Skag said steadily.

      Cadman hiccoughed. "The eye moved," he explained. "There—it did it again. I got a feeling as if an elevator dropped a flight. What were you saying?"

      "That I am here to take orders."

      "I'm taking orders to-night, son. I wouldn't risk your good opinion by shooting your guest—"

      "He is perfect—not more than four or five years—got his full range, but not his weight."

      Skag stopped abruptly, until the other nudged him.

      "Go on—it's like a bench-show—"

      "We called them Bengalis—but that is just the trade-name—"

      "You intimated he might have a lady-friend—do they hunt in couples?"

      The boy didn't answer that. "You've never been in a tiger's cage?" he asked suddenly.

      "I'm telling you not, so you'll excuse my apprehensions about our lodging—in case Herself appears. The fact is, there isn't room—"

      "She won't come near, if we keep up the voices—"

      "It becomes instantly a bore to talk," Cadman answered.

      Sometime passed before they spoke again. The tiger didn't seem to settle any; from time to time, they heard the tense concussion, the hissing escape of his snarl. The kid had either escaped or strangled to death.

      "Will he stand for it until morning?" Cadman asked abruptly.

      "He may move a little to rest his legs."

      "And won't he try for the top?"

      "I think not. He has already measured that. He sees in the dark. He knows there's no good in making a jump."

      "Nothing to jump at—with us here?"

      "We have put it over on him. You have helped greatly."

      "How's all that?"

      "You don't smell afraid—"

      "Ah, thanks."

      Long afterward Cadman's hand came over to Skag's brow and touched it lightly.

      "I was just wondering, son, if you sweat hot or cold."

      There was a pause, before he added:

      "You see, I want to get you, young man. You really like this sort of night?"

      "It is India," said Skag.

      Every little while through the dragging hours, Cadman would laugh softly; and if there had been silence for long, the warning snarl would come back. The breath of it shook the air and the thresh of the tail kept the dust astir in the pit.

      "There is only one more thing I can think of," Cadman said at last.

      The waning moon was now in meridian and blent with daylight. The beast was still crouched against the wall.

      "Yes?" said Skag.

      "That you should walk over and stroke his head."

      "Oh, no, he is cornered. He would fight."

      "There's really a kind of law about all this—?"

      "Very much a law."

      After an interval Cadman breathed: "I like it. Oh, yes," he added wearily, "I like it all."

      It was soon after that they heard the voices of natives and a face, looking grey in the dawn, peered down. Cadman spoke in a language the native understood:

      "Look in the tea-pot and toss down my cigarettes—"

      At this instant the tiger protested a second time. The native vanished with the squeak of a fat puppy that falls off a chair on its back. For moments afterward, they heard him calling and telling others the tale of all his born days. Three quarters of an hour elapsed before the long pole, thick as a man's arm, was carefully lowered. Skag guided the butt to the base of the pit, and fixed it there as far as possible from the tiger. This was delicate. His every movement was maddeningly deliberate, the danger, of course, being to put the tiger into a fighting panic.

      "Now you climb," Skag said.

      "No—"

      "It is better so. I am old at these things. He will not leap at you while I am here—"

      "You mean he might leap, as you start to shin