Here,   a   problem arises  in  this    scenario:   where   does    he  get the gun
from?   Because of  condensation    issues, poachers’   guns    are usually stored
outside,    in  order   to  maintain    a   stable  temperature.    However,    since   it  was
late,   and a   patrol  was unlikely,   Markov  may have    simply  leaned  it  up
outside the door    along   with    his cartridge   belt.   If  that    is  the case,   then    he
has a   chance  of  retrieving  it—so   long    as  the tiger   is  on  the far side    of  the
caravan.    Another possibility is  that    he  has the gun inside  on  the floor.
When    it  is  this    cold—minus  thirty  or  so—poorly   insulated   cabins  may
stay    ice-cold    below   knee    height  because the heat    from    the stove   rises   and
dissipates  so  quickly.    In  any case,   Markov  now has his gun.    His dogs    are
whining and barking,    and he  is  going   to  have    to  do  something   decisive.
However,    as  soon    as  he  brings  the gun up  to  window  height, there   is  a
significant  change  in  temperature     and     the     steel   components  start
sweating,   as  do  the brass   shells. At  this    rate,   it  won’t   take    long    for the
gunpowder   to  be  compromised,    if  it  isn’t   already.    There   is  a   new moon    so
visibility  is  poor,   but Markov  can hear    the tiger,  which   at  this    point   is
making  no  effort  to  disguise    its presence.   Perhaps it  has already killed
one of  his dogs,   an  offense many    tayozhniks  would   consider    just    cause
for  shooting    a   tiger. At   least   one     of  his     dogs    is  a   trained     hunter,     a
“breadwinner,”  and his livelihood  depends on  it. Markov  is  frightened,
angry,  and maybe   a   little  drunk.  Humble  as  it  is, this    is  his castle, and
there   is  a   tiger   at  the gate.
In   addition    to  a   couple  of  small   windows     and     the     door,   Markov’s
caravan also    had openings    cut specifically    for shooting    in  case    deer    or
boar    should  wander  into    range.  In  this    way,    his trailer doubled as  a   kind
of  live-in hunting blind.  From    one of  these   openings,   Markov  finds   his
angle,   thrusts     the     barrel  through,    and     takes   his     shot    from    point-blank
range,  aiming  for the tiger’s chest   or  head.   There   is  a   furious roar    and a
thrashing    of  brush,  and     the     tiger   is  gone.   For     now.    Markov  reloads
immediately.    His heart   is  pounding.   No  one who has been    challenged  by  a
tiger   comes   away    unmoved,    and it  is  hard    to  tell    who is  more    frightened
now,    Markov  or  his dogs.   Once    he  has determined  that    the tiger   is  gone
for the moment, Markov  finds   himself overcome    with    the need    for a
cigarette.  If  his dogs    are outside,    maybe   he  calls   them    in—if   they    haven’t
                    
                      ron
                      (Ron)
                      
                    
                #1
            
            