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"He might, though I don't know so much about it's bein' easy. But I believe their favorite way is to get a tiger under them—then they kick him backwards and forwards between the forefeet an' hindfeet an' pound him that way until there's nothin' left that you could practically call a tiger. A bull'11 do that to a man if one gets in his way if he goes musth."

"What's that?" demanded Nita and Hugh in chorus.

"Musth? It's a sort of madness comes on a buil sometimes. Only in India—I never heard of it in this country, but you have to watch out for it there. Ever notice those two little holes just near a bull's eyes? No? Well you ought to notice things. Anyhow, in those little holes is a kind of gland, an' if a keeper sees a little sort of drip coming from them he starts gettin' ready for trouble— shackles the buil fore an' aft with the heaviest tackle he can, an' keeps him quiet. He gets restless an' moody an' savage, an' no matter how well he's shackled he sometimes break away; an' then he behaves quite mad, an' goes for everybody he sees."

"Hurts them?"

"Kills' em, old son. Then he'11 take to the country an' he's an awful danger, 'cause he roams everywhere, fightin'-mad. They have to send out a party of hunters to shoot him."

"Jolly rough on him," said Hugh, hotly. "He can't know what he's doing. Why don't they run him into a field until he's better?"

"No field 'ud hold him. An' you can't leave two ton or

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