"This will do famously," cried he, as Ishmail handed him his tulwar with an ironical smile, which seemed to say, "It will do all your work as well as anything else—a broomstick might serve your turn, for that matter."

But this was lost upon Charles, who eagerly clutched the sword, and waving it triumphantly round his head, rattled down the hill in hot pursuit of his companion.

"You'll find that a queer tool to tackle a bear with, my hearty," shouted old Lorimer, laughing, as he and the rest of the party followed at a steady canter.

Charles only answered by another wave of his sword, and an extra dig of the spurs.

But we must follow Mansfield.

The tremendous pace at which he rattled over the ground soon brought him up with the chase. He was now within fifty yards of the bear, who, finding that matters began to look serious, was shambling along at his best pace, his foaming jaws distended, and his tongue lolling far out of his mouth. Three strides more would have brought him within spear's length, But "Bundoolah " began to show symptoms of distress. And there being no rival

at hand to dispute with him the honour of the first spear, Mansfield pulled up for a moment, to let his panting horse gather fresh wind before going into action with an enemy who, in all probability, would try the mettle both of horse and rider.

The spear which Mansfield had snatched up in his hurry was not exactly such a one as a sportsman would have selected from choice. It was a heavy unmanageable weapon headed with about half a ton of iron, well covered with rust, and not much sharper than the fluke of an anchor.

"A small touch of the file would do no harm here," thought Mansfield, as he felt the point with his finger, and thought of the razor-like edge of his favourite hog-spear: "but never mind, I must only give it the more powder. Now then, 'Bundoolah,' we'll try it."

So saying, he gathered up the reins, fixed himself well in the saddle, and closing his heels, the trusty "Bundoolah" bounded forward like an antelope. A true son of the desert, he feared neither beast nor devil, and dashed up to the bear without hesitation, in spite of the growl of defiance with which he was saluted. Taking a steady pull at his horse's head, and closing his left heel, ready to wheel off as the blow was struck, Mansfield poised his harpoon-like spear, and drove it with his whole strength into the broad back of his surly antagonist.

"That's through your d-d black hide, tough though it be, else there's no virtue in iron.-No, by the Prophet—no blood!” and Mansfield ground his teeth with vexation, as the blunted spear glanced off the bear's shaggy hide, only inflicting a slight scratch. The enraged brute turned on his pursuer with a tremendous roar. Quick as thought Mansfield wheeled off to avoid the charge; but in doing so his horse stumbled; and ere "Bundoolah" could recover himself, the gigantic forepaws of the bear were clasped round his neck, his teeth firmly fixed in his throat, and horse and rider rolled together on the ground.

At this critical moment Charles appeared in sight, thundering over the stones at headlong speed-his horse in a lather of foam, his bloody spurs driven home at every stride,—and his swordblade flashing in the sun, as he waved it over his head.

Half mad with excitement, the impetuous boy never dreamt of gathering his horse together as he neared the bear, but dashed at him at speed, and with a slackened rein. The consequence was, that the animal-terrified by the smell of blood, and the piteous groaning of poor “Bundoolah,” as he lay gasping in the deadly embrace of the bear-bounded suddenly to one side, reared up on end, and spun round. Charles, although a good horseman, was taken by surprise, lost his balance, and fell. Nothing daunted, however, he instantly scrambled to his feet, rushed towards the bear, who still continued to hold down the struggling horse, and buried his sword up to the hilt in his body.

The wounded monster quitted the horse, and rushed, openmouthed, at his new assailant. Charles sprang back to avoid the first rush, and watching his opportunity, when the bear reared on his hind legs, plunged the sword deep into his chest. Fortunately for Charles it pierced his heart. The enormous brute fell heavily forward a stream of blood gushed from his mouth; and the much-dreaded bear, the man-eater, the monarch of the rocky glen, lay at the feet of his conqueror, a harmless mass of black fur and bear's grease.

"Hurra!" shouted Mansfield, who was just beginning to recover from the stunning effects of his fall, and had raised himself on his elbow, "killed him, by the Prophet! and killed him well, too-Charles, you are a lucky dog; I would have given a month's pay to have struck that blow. But you may thank your good stars that you happened to touch his heart, for these infernal bears have as many lives as a cat, and had you stabbed him in any other part, he would have had your head half way down his throat before I could have come to your assistance. However, all's well that ends well-so lend me a hand to rise, Charles.Ha! confound it, how stiff I am! I verily believe' Bundoolah' must have rolled over me, for I feel as if my back were broken."

Mansfield, although stunned and severely bruised, had escaped all serious injury, and was quite fresh by the time the rest of the party came up.

"Ishmail's old tulwar has proved a better weapon for tackling' the bear than you expected, my venerable uncle," cried Charles, pointing with an air of triumph to the dead brute.

"Ishmail's tulwar!-Why, you little bantam-cock, you don't pretend to say that you killed the bear?"

"And why not?" replied Charles coolly wiping the bloody sword, and returning it to Ishmail.

"The devil you did! but how did you manage it?—and what was Mansfield about with his spear? It was wont to be a deadly one."

"It played me false this time, however." And Mansfield proceeded to relate the particulars of the adventure. In the meantime the Doctor was stooping over the dead bear, and examining the tremendous muscular development of his limbs with great interest.

"Od, but it's an awfu'-like beast," muttered he, half soliloquising. "Did ony leevin ever see the like o' thae fore-pawsthey're as grit as my waist, and fit to squeeze the life out o' a bull, let alone a Christian. And to think o' that bit slip o' a laddy fechten him wi' a sword!-Od, it's just past belief-it minds me o' the story o' Dauvid and Goly-o'-Gath."

The rest of the party having duly admired the size of the bear, the length of his claws, and the richness of his fur, there was nothing further to be said on the subject; so "boot and saddle" was the word. A spare pony was provided for Mansfield,-poor 'Bundoolah' being too severely wounded to be fit for work-and in five minutes they were all cantering homewards. Night had closed in before they reached the Cantonment, and the chilly mountain-breeze whistled bleak and cheerless through the woods. But a good dinner and a bright fire awaited them-and one there was who fondly hoped that the smile of beauty would greet his return; so with light hearts they pushed merrily forward, smoking their cigars, and talking over the adventures of the day.

We remarked, that evening, that Master Charles succeeded in getting up a very comfortable flirtation with the blooming Kate; and from the sunny smile which danced in her deep blue eye, and played around her pretty mouth, as she listened to his halfwhispered conversation, we felt satisfied that the flaming account of his exploits, given by Mansfield at dinner, had not been lost upon her.

Charles retired to rest with his head and heart brimful of love; and that night his pillow was beset by fleeting visions of blue eyes and bear-skins, tigers, turtle-doves, and true love-knots.

CHAPTER IV.

A TIGER HUNT ON THE NEILGHERRY HILLS.

W

HAT the devil brings you here?" exclaimed old Lorimer, as Ishmail, armed to the teeth, advanced to hold the stirrup whilst he mounted his horse; "I thought Dr. M'Phee had ordered you to keep your bed."

"He did so, Sahib; but I could not rest. There is blood between that tiger and me, and my wounds will not heal till I have been revenged on him. With the permission of your Highness, I must have a hand in his death."

"Well, well, so be it, you blood-thirsty old Pagan, and much good may it do you. But is all prepared ?-have plenty of fireworks been sent to the ground?-and has the ravine been watched during the night ?"

"The slaves of your Highness never sleep, Sahib. Our best scouts have been on the watch ever since sunset yesterday; a mouse could not pass them unobserved; and I myself have seen that there are plenty of fireworks prepared. By the Holy Prophet! it shall not be for want of fire if he beats us this time."