"That could happen. The villagers have been diligent, wanting everything ready for when your father came. They've built a machan, a platform, at a water hole that the tiger visits regularly." He used the cleaning rod to push an oiled rag down the rifle's barrel, scrubbing up and down to remove all the corrosive grains of black powder. "The moon will be almost full tonight, so they'll stake out a kid as bait. If the tiger cooperates, it might be all over by tomorrow."
"I assume you've hunted tigers before."
"Yes, though it's been five years." He began rubbing the rifle's hammer with the oiled rag, his expression distant. "The last time was when my brother-in-law visited and I took him hunting in the hill country north of Cambay. We spent several days stalking a tiger before cornering it in a rocky gorge. Ross was in the best position for a shot, so I waited for him to take it. But he didn't fire, even when the tiger whirled and charged right at him. Ross went down, and I was sure he'd been killed—scared the devil out of me. I took a wild shot at the tiger and missed, then went to Ross, expecting to find him in bloody pieces. Instead, he was fine. He had deliberately dropped to the ground to let the tiger bolt by him and escape."
Ian's voice took on a tinge of self-mockery. "I was so relieved that he was all right that naturally I lost my temper and started roaring furiously at him, telling him how many kinds of an idiot he was. Ross patiently waited me out— he's the most reasonable man I know, it's his only fault—then said that he had decided that the tiger skin looked better on the original owner than it would on his wall. Besides, what kind of sport was it when he had a rifle and the tiger didn't?"
Laura chuckled. "He may have a point."
"So I realized after I calmed down. A tiger is a magnificent animal—perhaps it's jealousy that makes men want to hunt them down. But as Ross said, the odds are stacked heavily in the man's favor, which isn't really very good sport. After his visit, I lost my enthusiasm for trophy hunting. I've concentrated on animals that could be eaten ever since."
"Speaking of eating, when tigers develop a taste for human flesh, they definitely have the advantage over unarmed villagers," Laura observed.
"Too true. That's why I'm going after this one. It's already killed at least a dozen people in Nanda and the neighboring villages. This morning I'm going to scout the area of the water hole. In the afternoon I'll go to the machan so I'll be in position when dusk falls." Almost casually, he added, "Care to join me for that?"
"On the machan?" she asked, startled.
He nodded. "To avoid disturbing the wildlife we'd have to walk, but the pond is less than three miles from the village."
Laura considered. Today Kenneth's belongings must be sorted, the bedclothes burned as a guard against possible infection, some of his possessions distributed to chosen servants and others packed to be taken back to Baipur. But none of that would take long, and when she was done, time would hang heavy on her hands. "I'd like to go. I've never been on a tiger hunt."
"This won't be a colorful one with elephants and beaters," he warned, "but it will be quite safe, and might be interesting. Of course, it could also be deadly dull if the tiger doesn't put in an appearance."
She watched intently as he began reassembling the rifle. He had a physical grace, a quality of being wholly in command of his body, that intrigued her. How would those deft hands feel if they touched her?
Her face colored when she realized the direction of her thoughts; a decent young Englishwoman would never have such fantasies. Of course, she was neither decent nor English. How fortunate that Ian Cameron was uninterested in her, because he was the sort of man who could make female judgment fly straight out the window. In proof of which, Laura found herself saying, "Please forgive me if the question is horribly impertinent, but has losing an eye made shooting more difficult?"
His thick brows rose sardonically. "Wondering if I'll be able to prevent you from being eaten?"
"Of course not." She blushed again. "You did say it would be safe in the machan. And surely a tender young kid would be tastier than an old spinster."
"I'm not fool enough to answer a comment like that." Again he gave a fleeting smile that was too soon over. "Actually, my shooting is better than ever. It made sense when I thought about it, because a marksman closes his off eye when aiming. Having only one eye simplifies the process, and it seems to increase my concentration on the target. Of course, it's fortunate that I'm left-handed. If I shot right-handed, losing my right eye probably would have ruined my marksmanship."