13 Tiger Adventure (18 page)

Frostbite played a peculiar game. At first his toes and fingers tingled painfully. Then the pain gradually disappeared and he thought he had beaten the frostbite.

The fact was that the frostbite had beaten him and had made his feet and hands and nose so numb that he no longer felt the least pain. When he got up and tried to walk it seemed as if his feet had been amputated and replaced by wooden pegs.

The Sherpas were making a peculiar call. It sounded exactly like the voice of a leopard. If a snow leopard were anywhere near by, it would answer that call and come close.

It was a good plan and it worked. There came an answering call from behind a great rock. Then the animal leaped to the top of the rock.

What a sight he was. Not at all like the leopards of the Gir Forest. He was snow white except for a few black rings here and there. His whiskers and moustache and chest were perfectly white. He was about five feet long without the tail, and the tail was another five feet long. It looked more like a python than a tail. It was as thick through as that serpent and was the same width all the way to the end. It must have been pretty heavy to carry around, but it was beautiful.

The animal’s belly was pure white, without rings. The fur was long, thick and soft, a lovely warm overcoat against the chill air of twenty thousand feet.

The great tail was switching back and forth angrily. He had heard the call of a mate and now he had found no mate, only these impertinent humans. He tensed himself for a spring. But he did not spring because at that instant Roger used his tear-gas pistol. This was enough to stop anything alive, either beast or human. The leopard blasted the air with his roar, blinked, and shook his great head. He leaped from the rock towards his tormentors. But at the same moment Roger fired his sleep-gun and the dart penetrated the snow-white patch between rings on the animal’s flank. The boy and the Sherpas jumped out of the way and the leopard found nothing but snow and ice when he landed. He was still full of fire and made for the boy who should be the easiest one to kill. Roger stopped him with another shot of tear gas. The big cat collapsed within two feet of his intended victim.

One of the Sherpas, thinking that the cat was now asleep, put his foot on the furry body. That nearly cost him his life. The animal turned on him and would have torn him to ribbons if Roger had not fired another dart, and both the tear gas and the sleep medicine conquered one of the finest trophies that the Hunts had ever collected.

After they were very sure that the dangerous animal was sound asleep it took all three of them to lift his two-hundred-pound body on to the sled. Then they started back to camp. A little later the sleeping cat would be taken to Aligar.

In the meantime, Hal had found his yak. Of all shaggy animals, this was the shaggiest. Its hair hung down so low that it brushed the ground. The animal stood six feet high and Hal estimated its weight at twelve hundred pounds. Its two long horns looked dangerous but the animal was not a fighter and the horns were merely ornaments, not weapons.

Its feet were hidden by the long waterfall of fur. It was all dark brown except for a white muzzle.

It didn’t seem to mind Hal’s close inspection. Hal lifted part of the shaggy coat and discovered that beneath it there was a thick undercoat of warm woolly hair. This, he knew, was plaited into rope by the Tibetans so that a team of yaks would be harnessed by their own hair.

This animal, however, had never been in a team and was completely wild. It had never been taught to fear man. Its eyesight and hearing were not so good but it had a keen sense of smell. Apparently it had no objection to the smell of this human and so long as it was gently treated the noose that Hall had put over its horns was willingly accepted. Hal led it back to camp. As soon as was convenient it would be taken down to Aligar. Certainly it was a unique wild animal, rarely seen in any zoo.

Vic, who had been sent down to see if the animals were being properly cared for, reached Aligar without getting lost. He looked at the great blue bear in its cage, and the fine ibex in another.

He had followed Hal and Roger to the mountains with the intention of stealing their animals. Now he had his opportunity. With the help of some men he could get the two cages up on to the truck and drive away.

Somehow he had lost his taste for such an an adventure. Hal had trusted him, and Vic couldn’t do anything so mean as steal his animals. Besides, Hal had saved him from certain death. He was grateful.

This was a new feeling for Vic. He was not used to being grateful for anything. He had always taken great pleasure in being a skunk. He couldn’t understand why he felt differently now.

After chatting with the mayor and making sure that the animals were being properly fed, he made the long trek back to the camp at twenty thousand feet.

Tiger! Tiger! burning bright

In the forest of the night,

What immortal hand or eye

Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

The boys had one big job left to do. To get a tiger. Not just any tiger. They already had two of the usual sort, with yellow hide and black stripes.

These were valuable animals, but the most valuable was yet to be captured. It was the remarkable white tiger.

There were said to be some on the white slopes of the Himalayas. Since John Hunt had asked for one, the boys could not go home without capturing a white tiger.

Roger had brought in a snow leopard. Hal was not feeling well.

Then it’s up to me,’ said Vic.

‘But you can’t do it alone.’ said Hal.

Vic said, ‘I can try.’

Hal and Roger could hardly believe their ears. It was unusual for Vic to try to do anything, except to steal animals.

‘Go ahead and try,’ said Hal. ‘Don’t be discouraged if you fail. There are very few white tigers - we haven’t seen one yet.’

Vic set out to find a white tiger. All day he searched, with no result. Another day, and another and another he hunted in vain. He kept at it. Hal had given him his life-he must give Hal a white tiger.

One day, passing a rock cave, he heard a curious snuffling sound inside.

He stopped and looked in. At first he could see nothing because his eyes were half blinded by sun and snow. But his ears did better than his eyes. A tremendous roar seemed to shake the cave.

Vic retreated. If only he could find a tree or bush to hide behind. But there was nothing of the sort at this altitude. So he simply stood still.

Gradually his eyes became adjusted to the darkness and he saw what he had been looking for. It was a white tiger of tremendous size. He had heard that the world’s biggest tiger was the Siberian, fourteen feet long. This must be the next biggest. What a trophy, if he could get it.

The hide of this remarkable animal was white with a few black stripes, not yellow and black like most tigers.

As his vision improved he could make out five little blobs around the monster’s feet. They were white tiger cubs, and this must be their mother. She would fiercely defend her cubs even if it meant her own death.

It would have been prudent for Vic to walk away. But he was not prudent when he saw the chance of getting this great tigress and her cubs. The cubs were really as important as the mother. There were probably both males and females among these youngsters, and there was a good chance that on John Hunt’s wild animal farm the line of white tigers could be continued down the years. Therefore every one of these five was precious.

Tigers seldom attack unless disturbed. As long as Vic stood still the tigress did not move.

There was a growl behind him and he wanted to run but mastered his fear and remained quiet. Another tiger passed him and entered the cave. This must be the father of the cubs. But it did something that no good father would do. In spite of the protesting growl of the tigress, the father picked up one of the cubs and ate it.

Hal had mentioned that this sort of thing could happen.

Tiger fathers frequently eat their own young. They seem to forget that they are fathers, but the mother never forgets that she is the mother. The tiger seemed ready to continue his meal by devouring another cub.

Vic could not let this happen. He let fly a jet of tear gas into the face of the tiger who immediately gave up the idea of completing his dinner and ran out of lie cave.

The tigress looked at Vic with apparent gratitude, and if she had been able to speak she doubtless would have said, Thank you.’

For the first time Vic noticed that the tigress was standing on three feet and holding up the other paw as if it were too painful to set it on the ground. Was there a thorn in that paw, or the quill of a porcupine?

Vic very, very slowly walked into the cave, stopping every once in a while to let the tigress get used to his presence. He went to the side of the tigress away from the cubs and stood there for a while looking at that lifted paw.

The tigress rumbled a bit, but did not growl. Anyone who had saved her cubs could not be all bad.

Vic squatted down so that he could see the wounded paw. There was no thorn in it and no quill. But there was an arrowhead deeply embedded in the flesh. No one on the Indian side of the mountain used arrows, therefore it must have been fired by a Tibetan.

Very gently, Vic lifted the foot and drew out the arrowhead. The tigress turned to look at him and again he thought he saw gratitude in her eyes. She even spoke. She said, ‘Ouf,’ and followed that with ‘Aum.’ Vic was not up on tiger language, but accepted these remarks as being friendly.

She now took to washing her four cubs just as a house cat washes her kittens.

Now Vic dared to do something very dangerous. He picked up the four tiny cubs, put two in one pocket and two in another. The tigress grumbled and worried but could not attack such a friend. Vic walked very slowly out of the cave and the tigress followed, and kept on following until they arrived at the camp.

Sherpas who had been standing about saw the monster approach. They rushed into their tent and closed it firmly against this great killer. Hal and Roger came out and Vic told them the whole story. Then the tigress was put to sleep and she, along with a bagful of her precious babies, was sledded down to Aligar.

Hal put an arm around Vic and said, From now on you’re our brother.’

That’s what I’d like to be,’ said Vic.

Later on, Hal slipped a cheque for $250 into Vic’s pocket for the capture of five remarkable animals.

Their animal collection complete, the boys and the Sherpas returned to Aligar.

They had one more job to do. John Hunt had asked them to investigate what the world called the Abominable Snowman and the people of the mountains called the Yeti.

The main thing for us to find out,’ said Hal, ‘is whether there are Yeti or not. Are they real, or just imaginary? Most of the mountain people believe they are real. In Katmandu they believe it. In Bhutan, shut in by the Himalayas, they have great stories about these unseen creatures. The Yeti are called ‘the national animal of Bhutan’. They even put a picture of the Yeti on their postage stamps.’

‘If everybody believes it, it must be true.’ said Roger.

‘Not quite,’ said Hal. There was a time when everyone believed the earth was flat, They were all wrong. Even in these countries there are some who don’t believe in Yeti. I think that shopkeeper is one of them. The head lama is perhaps another. The relics they tried to sell us may not be real Yeti scalps, or Yeti arms, or Yeti tails, or have anything at all to do with Yeti. I don’t know. We’ll just have to find out. First let’s go to see that shopkeeper who tried to sell us what he called a Yeti scalp.’

They dropped in at the store and were enthusiastically received.

‘Ah,’ said the shopkeeper, ‘you came to buy that Yeti scalp.’

‘Well,’ said Hal, ‘we’ve been thinking about it. But first I’d like to have you come down to the mayor’s garden where our animals are stored. I think you’ll be interested to see them. Bring along the Yeti scalp.’

The man called his wife to take care of the shop and went with the boys to see the magnificent white tiger and the cubs, the beautiful snow leopard, the ibex, the Tibetan yak and finally the blue bear. The shopkeeper was much pleased and impressed.

‘And now you have come back to buy the Yeti scalp.’ he said.

‘Let me have it for a moment,’ said Hal.

The blue bear was lying at the side of his cage and some of his hair projected between the wires. Hal placed the furry scalp beside the fur of the blue bear.

‘Do you notice anything?’ he asked the shopkeeper.

‘Can’t say I do,’ replied the shopkeeper.

‘You don’t notice that the hair on the scalp and the hair on the blue bear are exactly the same?’

‘Well, now that you speak of it, there is a slight similarity.’

‘Not just a slight similarity,’ said Hal, ‘they are exactly the same. In other words, that scalp was made from the skin of a blue bear, not a Yeti. And you tried to sell it to us for a lot of money.’

The shopkeeper was full of excuses. ‘How did I know the scalp was made of blue bear skin? The man who sold it to me said it was a true Yeti scalp. I took his word for it. I can’t help it if he was not honest and reliable.’

Hal felt like saying that he couldn’t help it if the shopkeeper was not honest and reliable. Instead, he merely smiled and returned the scalp to the shopkeeper.

‘Please sir,’ said that gentleman, ‘don’t tell anybody about this.’ He walked back to the shop with his fake Yeti scalp.

The boys went in to thank the mayor for taking good care of the animals. Hal paid him more rupees than he had ever seen at one time in his life.

‘Glad to be of service,’ said the mayor. That’s what we are here for. We also like to provide our guests with some of these Yeti relics.’ And he laid them out on the floor.

The two young naturalists examined them very carefully.

One that the mayor said was the arm of a Yeti was really the hind leg of a Himalayan bear. A ‘Yeti claw’ had really come from a black bear. A beautiful white rug said to be the skin of a Yeti was a skin all right, but the skin of a snow leopard.