 Chapter No. 7 of The Jungle Girl by Gordon Casserly. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Linda Marie Nielsen, Vancouver, B.C. In the Terai Jungle. In the pleasant light of the morning, the little outpost looked as charming to war-grave as it had done on the previous evening. Above Rangadwar the mountains towered to the pale blue sky. While below it the foothills fell in steps, to the broad sea foliage of the great forest stretching away, to the distant plains seen vaguely through the haze. The horseshoe hollow in which the tiny station was set was bowered in vegetation. The gardens glowed with the varied hues of flowers, and were bounded by hedges of wild roses. The road and paths were bordered by the tall, graceful plumes of the bamboo and shaded by giant mango and banyan trees. Their bows clothed with orchids. Frank had noticed the previous day that the fort, barracks, and bungalows were all newly built, and he learned that during the Great War, which had raged along the frontiers of India five years before, the post had been fiercely attacked by an army of Chinese and Bhutanese, and the little station practically wiped out of existence, although victory had finally rested with the few survivors of the garrison. From the first the subaltern took great like to the tall Punjabi Mahadem and hook-nosed fair-skin, pathan-native officers, and sepoys of the detachment. The work was light and scarcely required to British officers, and Frank soon found that Major Hunt, who seemed driven by a demon of quiet energy, preferred to do most of it himself. Frank got the impression that to the elder man occupation was an anodyne for some secret sorrow. Although the subaltern had no wish to shirk his duty, he could not but be glad that his superior officer seemed always ready to dispense with his aid, and thus he would find it easier to get permission to go shooting. His first excursion into the jungle was arranged at dinner at the Dermot's house on his second evening in Rangadwar. The colonel proposed to take him out on the following Monday, for on the next day the Deb Zimpun would arrive. He always brings a big train of Bhutias with him, eighty swordsmen as an escort to the small army of Kuli's necessary to carry a hundred thousand sober rupees in boxes over the Himalayan passes. I like to give them the flesh of a few Samper stags as a treat, said the colonel. Heaven help ye have ye bring any Samper flesh to the mess war grave, said Burke. We want something we can get our teeth into. No, we expect a cackeur from you. What's a cackeur? asked Frank. It's the muntjac or barking deer, replied Dermot. You wouldn't know it if you haven't shot in forests. It gets its English name from its call, which is not unlike a dog's bark. When ye hear one saying, Wonk, Wonk, in the jungle war grave, get up the nearest tree, for the cackeur is warning all whom it may concern that there's a tiger in the emergent vicinity. Frank had already learned to distress most of Burke's statements on sport, for the doctor was an invertate joker, so he looked to the political officer for confirmation. Yes, it's supposed to be the case, agreed the colonel, and I've more than once heard a tiger loudly express his annoyance when a cackeur barked as he was trying to sneak by unnoticed. There's a barking deer. He pointed to the well-mounted head of a small deer on the wall of the dining room. Whom do you expect up for the deer-bar, Mrs. Dermot? asked Major Hunt. Only Mr. Carter, the subdivisional officer, and probably Mr. Benson. Isn't Miss Benson coming, too? asked the doctor, in a hesitating manner, so unlike his usual cheery and assured self, that Frank looked at him. It seemed to him that Burke was blushing. Oh, yes, I hope so, replied Mrs. Dermot. Or haven't you heard from her? persisted the doctor anxiously? I had a letter this afternoon brought by a Cooley. Muriel wrote to say that they were in the Buxa Reserve, but hoped to get here in time. I'm looking forward to her coming immensely. It's four months since I saw her. Frank could not help noticing that Burke seemed to hang on Mrs. Dermot's words, and he began to wonder if the unknown lady held the doctor's heart. It's rather hard on a girl like Miss Benson to have to lead such a lonely life, and rough it constantly in the jungle, as she does, remarked Major Hunt. At her age she must want gaiety and amusement. Muriel doesn't mind it, replied the hostess. She loves jungle life, and she thinks that her father couldn't get on without her. Sure, she's right there, Mrs. Dermot, cried Burke. The dear odd boy does lose her head, of he haven't heard to hold it on for him. She does most of his work. It's a sight to see that slip of a girl bossing all the forest guards and habus and giving them their orders. Wargrave was anxious to hear more of this girl, in whom it appeared to him Burke was very much interested, but Colonel Dermot broke in. Talking of orders, have you any for the butcher's man, Noreen, he asked, smiling at his wife. Yes, dear, will you please bring me a kakur and some jungle fowl, and if you can manage it, a brace of kaje pheasants, said the good housewife seriously. Well, Wargrave, we've both got our orders and know what to bring back from the jungle, said the Colonel, turning to Frank, who was sitting beside him, then the conversation between them drifted into sporting channels until all adjourned outside for coffee on the veranda. Next afternoon the subaltern, passing down the road, was hailed from the Dermot's garden by an imperious small lady with golden curls and big blue bows, and ordered to play with her. Her brother and Badcha had to join in the game, too. Frank, chasing the deity might round and round the elephant, began to think himself in the garden of Eden, but that same evening he found his Himalayan paradise was not without its serpent. The three officers of the detachment were seated at dinner on the mess for anda. Major hunt with his back to the rough stone wall of the building. A swinging oil lamp with a metal shade through the light downward and left the ceiling, an upper part of the wall in shadow. When dinner was ended, the commandant, lighting a cheroot, tilted his chair on its back legs until his head nearly touched the wall. Frank, talking to him, chanced to look up at the roof. He stared into the shadows for a moment, then suddenly grasping the astonished Major by the collar, jerked him out of his chair. And, as he did so, a snake, a deadly hill viper, which had been trying to climb up the rough face of the wall, slipped and dropped on to the commandant's chair, slid to the floor and glided across the veranda and down into the garden before anyone could find a stick with which to attack it. Major hunt, his sallow face a little paler than usual, looked up at the wall to see if any more reptiles were likely to follow, then sat down again calmly. Thank you, Wargrave, he said quietly, but for you that brute would have got me. And his bite is death, rang us full of snakes, like all these places in the hills. We've killed several in the mess since I've been here, but no one's had such a close shave as this. I'll stand you a drink for that. Hi, boy! But for all this quiet manner of taking it, Frank had made a staunch friend that night by his prompt action. As Burke took the filled glass that the Gurkha mess servant brought him at the Major's order, he said, I hate snakes worse than the devil hates holy water. They're only things in life I'm afraid of. I never go to bed without looking under the pillow, nor put on my boots in the morning without first turning them up and shaking them. I wish St. Patrick had made a trip to India and driven the serpents out of the country the same as he did in Ireland. We've the worst snake in the world, I believe, here in the Terai, Wargrave, said Major Hunt. Look out for it when you're in the jungle. It's the Hamadrind or King Cobra. Have you heard of it? I saw the skin of one sixteen feet long in a Bombay Museum, sir, replied the subaltern. It's the only snake in Asia that will attack human beings unprovoked, is deadly poisonous, unlike all other big snakes, and they say it moves so fast that it can overtake a man on a pony, Benson. The first officer of the district tells me there are many of them in the jungles here. One of the devils chased Dermot's elephant once and turned on the colonel when he interfered. It got its head blown off for its pains, put in the doctor. Don't tell me any more, Burke, exclaimed Wargrave, laughing, or I won't be able to sleep tonight. He pushed back his chair as the commandant rose from the table and, saying good night to the two junior officers, picked up from the veranda and lit a hurricane lantern, and walked down the mess steps with it on his way home to his bungalow. Europeans in India do not care to move about at night without a lamp leased in the darkness they might tread on a snake. Early on the following Monday morning Wargrave, dressed in khaki knickerbockers, shirt and patees, and wearing besides his pith helmet a spine protector, a quilted cloth pad buttoned to the back as a guard against sunstroke, went down to the Dermot's bungalow in the garden the colonel also prepared for their shooting expedition, stood talking to his wife while their children were trying to climb up Badshah's legs. The elephant was equipped with a light pad provided with large pockets into which were thrust thermos flasks, packets of sandwiches, and of cartridges. Close by two servants were holding guns. Good morning, Wargrave, said the colonel, as a subaltern greeted him and his wife, you're in good time. Eileen, deserting Badshah, ran to Frank and demanded to be lifted and kissed. When he had obeyed the small tyrant, he said, I haven't brought a rifle, sir. That's right, I have one and a ball and shotgun for you. We'll walk down to the Peel Kahana by a short cut through the hills to look for Calj Peasant on the way. Take the gun with you and load one barrel with shot, but put a bullet in the other, for you never know what we may meet. Bagshah will go down by the road, as well as one of the servants to bring the rifles and tell the Malhoots to get a detachment elephant ready. It will follow us in the jungle to carry any animals we kill while we'll ride Bagshah. Kissing his wife and children, the colonel led the way down the road, followed by Frank and the servant, Bagshah walking unattended behind him. Good sport, Mr. Wargrave, called out Mrs. Dermott, as the subaltern turned at the gate to take off his hat in a farewell salute, and the little coquette beside her kissed her tiny hand to him. After they had gone half a mile, the two officers, carrying their fouling pieces, turned off a long, a foot-path through the undergrowth, leaving the servant and the elephant to continue down the road. The track led steeply down the mountain side, at first between high, closely matted bushes, and then through scrub-jungle dotted with small trees, among the foliage of which gleamed the yellow fruit of the limes and the plantain's glossy drooping leaves, and long-curving stalks from which the nimble fingers of wild monkeys had plucked the ripe bananas. Here and there the ground was open, and the path following a natural depression in the hills gave down the gradually widening valley, a view of the panorama of forest and plain lying below. As they passed a clump of tangled bushes, a rustle and a pattering over the dry leaves under them caught the colonel's ear. Look out, kelch! he whispered, picking up a stone and throwing it into the cover. A large speckled black and white bird worded out, and wargrave brought it down. Good shot! There's another, called out Dermot, and fired with equal success. We're lucky, he continued, as a rule they won't break, but scuttle along under the bushes, so that one often has to shoot them running. Frank picked up the birds and examined them with interest before the colonel stuffed them into his game-bag and moved on down the path, which was growing steeper. The trees became more numerous and larger, as they descended nearer the forest. Out of another clump of bushes, the sportsmen succeeded in getting a second brace of peasants. Lower down they passed through a belt of bamboos, where in one spot the long feathery boughs were broken off or twisted in wild confusion for a space of fifty-yard radius. Wild elephants, said the political officer briefly, and pointed to a patch of dust, in which was the round imprint of a huge foot. Frank was a little startled, for he felt that against these great animals the bullets in their guns would be useless. Are they dangerous, sir? he asked. Not as a rule, when they are in a herd, although cow elephants with cows may be so, fearing peril for their young. But sometimes a bull takes to a solitary life, becomes vicious and develops into a dangerous rogue. It probably happens that, finding crops growing near a jungle village and braiding them, he is driven off by the cultivators, turns savage and kills some of them. Then he usually seems to take a hatred to all human beings and attacks them on sight. Hello, here we are at the Pilkhana at last. They had reached the high wooden building which housed the three transport elephants of the detachment. In the clearing before it, Badshah and another animal were standing, a group of Bahoutts and Cooleys near them. Will mount and start at once, said Colonel Dermot, beckoning to his elephant, which came to him. Get up, Wargrave! The subaltern looked up doubtfully at the pad on Badshah's back. How can I, sir? Isn't he going to kneel? he asked. Put your foot on his trunk, when he crooks it, and grab hold of his ears. He'll lift you up then. The understanding elephant at once curled his trunk invitingly and cocked its great ears forward. Frank did as he was directed, and found himself raised in the air, until he was able to get on to the elephant's head, and from it scrambled on to the pad. Dermot followed and seated himself astride the huge neck. Mole, go on, he ejaculated. With a swaying lurching stride, Badshah at once moved across the clearing, followed by the transport elephant, onto which a Mahout and a Cooley had climbed, and plunged into the dense undergrowth which was so high that it nearly closed over the rider's heads. The sudden change from the blinding glare of the sun to the enchanting green gloom of the forest, from the intense heat to the refreshing coolness of the shade, was delightful. Beyond the clearing the vegetation was tangled and rank, high grass concealing thorny shrubs, tall matted bushes covered with large white bell-shaped flowers, also dense that men on foot could not push their way through, but it divided like water before the leading elephant's weight and strength. The trees were now not the lesser growth of bamboo, lime, and saral palm that covered the foothills. They were the great forest giants, enormous teak, sal, and semel trees, tearing up bare of branches for a good height above the ground, rising to the green canopy overhead and thrusting their leafy crowns through it, seeking their share of the sunlight. Their massive branches were matted thick with the glossy green leaves of orchid plants and draped with long trails of the beautiful mauve and white blossoms of the exotic flowers, hanging from the highest branches or swinging between the massive bowls, creepers of every kind rioted in bewildering confusion, a chaos of natural cordage, a festoon lianas thick as a liner's hauser, some twisting around each other, others coiling about the tree trunks, biting deep into the bark or striving to strangle them in a cruel grip. Not even the elephant's weight and strength could burst through the stout network of these creepers in places. While they tore at the obstructions with their trunks, it was necessary for their drivers to hack through the creepers with their sharp curcress. The heavy curved knives carried in their belts and similar to the Gurkha's favorite weapon. Here and there the party came upon glades free from undergrowth, where in the cool shade of the trees the ground was knee deep in bracken. In one such spot Wargrave's eye was caught by a flash of bright color, and his rifle went halfway to his shoulder, only to be lowered again when he saw two Samber Heinz, graceful animals with glossy chestnut hides, watching the advancing elephants curiously but without fear. For, used to seeing wild ones, they did not realize that Badshah and his companion carried human beings. Their sex saved them from the hunters who, leaving them unscathed, passed on and plunged into the dense undergrowth on the far side of the clearing. The elephants fed continually as they moved along, sweeping up great bunches of grass, tearing down trails of leafy creepers, breaking off branches from the trees. They crammed them all impartially into their mouths, picking up twigs in their trunks. They used them to beat their sides and legs to drive off stinging insects, or snuffing up dust from the ground, blue clouds of it along their bellies for the same purpose. Suddenly the colonel stopped Badshah and whispered, There's a Samhurst egg, or grave, there to your left in the undergrowth. Have a shot at him. The subaltern looked everywhere, eagerly, but in the dense tangle he could not discern the animal. Like all novices in the jungle he directed his gaze too far away, and suddenly a dark patch of deep shadow in the undergrowth close by materialized itself into the black hide of a stag, only as it dashed off. It had been standing within fifteen paces of the elephants, knowing the value of immobility as a shield. At last its nerve failed it, and it revealed itself by breaking away. But as it fled, Colonel Dermott's rifle spoke, and the big deer crumpled up and fell crashing through the vegetation to the ground. The second elephant's Mahut, a gray-bearded Mahomedan, slipped instantly to the earth and, drawing his turkey, struggled through the arresting creepers in undergrowth to where the stag lay feebly moving its limbs. Seizing one horn, he performed the halal. That is, he cut its throat to let blood, while there was still life in the animal, muttering the short Muslim creed as he did so. For his religion enjoins this hygiene practice, borrowed by the prophet from the Mosaic Law, to guard against long-dead carrion being eaten. At the touch of the Colonel's hand, Bad Shaw sank to its knees, and Wargrave, very annoyed with himself for his slowness in detecting the deer, forced his way through the undergrowth to examine it. The stag was a fine beast, fourteen hands high, with sharp brow antlers and a pair of thick, stunted horns, branching at the ends into two points. Leaving the elephants to graze freely, the Mahut and his coulis disemboweled the Samhur and hacked off the head with their heavy curkeys. Aided by the political officer and Wargrave, they skinned the animal, and then, with the skill of professional butchers, proceeded to cut up the carcass into huge joints. While they were thus engaged, the Colonel went to a small, straight-stem tree, common in the jungle, and, clearing away a patch of the outer mottled bark, disclosed a white inner skin which he cut off in long strips. With these, which formed unbreakable cordage, they fastened the heavy joints to the pad of the transport elephant. When this was done, Wargrave, looking at his hands covered with blood and grime, said ruefully, How on earth are we to get clean, sir? Is there any water in the jungle? We haven't seen any. The political officer, looking about him, pointed to a thick creeper with withered seeming bark, and said with a laugh, There's your water, Wargrave. Lots of it on tap. See here. He cut off a length of the liana, which contained a whitish pulpy interior. From the two ends of the piece, water began to drip steadily, and increased to a thin stream. By George, sir, that's a plant worth knowing, said Frank. It's a most useful jungle product, said the Colonel, holding it up so that his companion, using clay as soap, could wash his hands. It's called the Pani Belle, water creeper. One need never die of thirst in a forest where it is found. Try the water in it. He raised it so that the clear liquid flowed into the subaltern's mouth. It was cool, palatable, and tasteless. By George, sir, that's good, exclaimed Wargrave, examining the plant carefully. Now let me hold it for you. After Dermot and the two natives had cleansed their hands and arms, the party moved on, the transport elephant looking like an interior butcher's shop, as it followed Bad Jha. Again, the undergrowth parted before the great animals like the sea cleft by the boughs of a ship, and closed similarly behind them when they had passed. Of its own volition, the leaders swerved one side or the other, when it was necessary to avoid a tree trunk or to dance a tangle of obstructing creepers. But once Dermot touched and turned it sharply out of its course, to escape what seemed a very large lump of clay adhering to the underside of an overhanging bough in their path. A wild bee's nest, said the colonel, pointing to it, it wouldn't do to risk hitting against that and being stung to death by its occupants. A few minutes later he suddenly arrested Bad Jha at the edge of a fern-carpeted glade and whispered, Look out! There's a barking deer! Get him! Across the glade a graceful little buck with a bright chestnut coat stepped daintily, followed at a respectable distance by his doe. Their restless ears pointed incessantly this way, and that for every warning sound as they moved, but neither saw the elephants hidden in the undergrowth. Raising his rifle, Frank took a quick aim at the buck's shoulder and fired. The deer pitched forward and fell dead, while its startled mate swung round and left wildly away. A good shot of yours wargrave, remarked Colonel Dermott, when Bad Jha had advanced to the prostrate animal, broke its shoulder and pierced the heart. Frank looked down pittingly at the pretty little deer stretched lifeless among the ferns. It seems a shame to slaughter a harmless thing like that, he said. Yes, I always feel the same myself, and never kill except for food, replied the political officer, unless, of course, it's a dangerous beast like a tiger. Well, the khakur is too dead to halal, but that doesn't matter, as we're going to eat it ourselves and not give it to the suppoys. The mahout and the kooley were already cleaning the deer, and, without troubling to cut it up, bound its legs together with udal fiber and tied it to the pad of their elephant, and the party moved on again. Half a mile further, on the silence of the forest, was broken by the loud crowing of a cock, taken up and answered defiantly by others. Hello, are we near a village, sir? asked Wargrave, surprised at the familiar sound so far in the heart of the wild. No, those are jungle fowl, whispered the political officer. Get your gun ready. He halted the elephant and picked up his fouling piece. Frank hurriedly substituted a sharp cartridge for the one loaded with ball in his gun. He heard a pattering on the dry leaves under the trees and into a fairly open space before them stalked a pretty little bantam cock with red comb and waddles and curving green tail feathers, followed by four or five sober brown hens, so light in every respect to domestic foul that Wargrave hesitated to shoot. But suddenly the birds word up into the air, and as the Colonel gave them both barrels, Frank did the same. The cock and three of his wives dropped. The Malhoot urged his elephant forward and made the reluctant animal pick up the crumpled bunches of bloodstained feathers in its curving trunk and pass them to him. Colonel Dermott searched the jungle for some distance around but could not find the other jungle cocks that had answered the dead one's challenge. Looking at his watch, he suggested a halt for lunch, which Wargrave, whose back was beginning to ache with fatigue, gladly agreed to. Dismounting, they sat on the ground and ate and drank the contents of the pockets of Badshaw's pad. But with loaded rifles beside them, least their meal should be disturbed by any dangerous densen of the jungle. The two natives sat down some distance away and turning their backs on each other, drew out claws in which their midday repast of chupatis or thick pancakes with curry and an onion or two was tied up. The elephants left to themselves grazed close by and did not attempt to wander away. Their meal and a smoke finished the party, mounted again and moved on. But luck seemed to have deserted them. Much to the political officer's disappointment, they wandered from miles without adding anything to their bag. He had calculated on getting another couple of Samper steaks to present to the dead Zimpun as food for his hungry followers. The route that they were now taken led certuously back towards the Pilkhana, which they wished to reach before sundown. They had got within a mile of it and were close to the foot of the hills when Badshaw stopped suddenly and smelt the ground. Colonel Dermott leaned over the huge head and stared down intently at something invisible to his young companion. What is it, sir? asked Wargrave in a whisper. Bison, Badshaw's pointing for us. We can't shoot them here, for we're in government jungle, where the killing of elephants Bison and Rhino is forbidden, unless they attack you. But the track leads north towards the mountains, and at their foot the government forest ends. That's only half a mile away, and we can beg them there. Load your rifle with solid nose bullets. This is the pug footprint of a bull, I think. The two natives had seen the tracks by this, and were wildly excited. Badshaw, without urging, moved swiftly through the trees, and soon brought his riders to the hills and into sight of the sky once more. The mountains stood out clear and distant in the slanting rays of the setting sun. Suddenly a loud, though distant, almost musical bellow sounded, seeming to come from a bamboo jungle about one mile away. That's a cow Bison calling, said Dermot in a low voice. There's a herd somewhere about, but the pugs were following up are those of a solitary bull. We're in free forest now, so with luck you may get your first Bison. It's very steep here. We'll dismount, leave the elephants, and go on foot. The subaltern was wildly excited, and his heart thumped at a rate that was not caused by the steep slope up, which he followed Dermot. The colonel tracked the bull unhesictatingly, although to wargrave there was no mark to be seen on the ground. They were creeping cautiously through bamboo cover on a hill, when Dermot, who was leading, suddenly threw himself on his face, lay still for a minute or two, then motioning to his companion to halt, crawled forward like a snake. A few paces on he stopped and beckoned to wargrave, and when the latter reached him, pointed down into the gully below. They were almost on the edge of a descent precipitous enough to be called a cliff. Immediately underneath, by a small stream, was a massive black bull bison, eighteen hands, six feet high, with short square head, broad ears, and horizontal rounded horns. The only touches of color were on the forehead and the legs below the knees, which were whitish. The animal, with head thrown back, was staring vacantly with his large slaty blue eyes. Wargrave trembled with excitement, and his heart beat so violently that the rifle shook as he brought it to his shoulder, and gently pushed the muzzle through the stiff, dry grass at the edge of the cliff, but for the one necessary instant he became rigidly steady, and without a tremor pressed the trigger. Then the rifle barrels danced again before his eyes. When he saw the great bull collapse on the ground, its four legs twitching violently, the hind ones motionless. Good shot! you broke in his spine, exclaimed Dermot, springing to his feet and sliding, scrambling, jumping down the steep descent. The excited subaltern outstripped him, but before he reached the bull, it lay motionless, dead. You're a lucky man, Wargrave, a splendid bison on your first day in the jungle. Those horns are six feet from tip to tip, I bet, and the political officer held out his hand. Frank shook it heartily as he said gracefully, I've only you to thank for it. It was ripping of you to let me have the first shot, and you gave me such a sitter that I couldn't miss. Thank you awfully, Colonel. Dermot gave a piercing whistle and stood waiting, while the overjoyed subaltern walked round and round the dead bison, marveling at its size and exclaiming at his own good fortune. When in a few minutes Bagshaw appeared, followed by the panting men, Colonel Dermot set the mahout on his elephant to the stable to fetch other men, to cut up and bring in the bison. Then he and Wargrave, on Bagshaw, made for the road to Rangadar. It was dark long before they reached the little station. The Colonel brought his companion in for a drink, after the three thousand foot climb, most of which they had done on foot. Mrs. Dermot met them in the hall, and, after she had heard the result of the day's sport, warmly congratulated Wargrave on his good luck. Loud whispers and a scuffle over their heads attracted the attention of all three elders, and on the broad wooden staircase they saw two small figures, one in pajamas, the other in a pretty trailing night dress, daintily tied with blue bows, looking imploringly down at their mother. She smiled and nodded, there was a whirlwind rush down the stairs, and the mites were caught up in their father's arms. Then Frank came in for his share of caresses, from them before they were sternly ordered back to bed again, and as he passed out into the darkness he carried away with him an enchanting picture of the charming babes climbing the stairs hand in hand and turning to blow kisses to the tall man who stood below with a strong arm around his pretty wife gazing fondly up at his children. And the picture stayed with him when, after dinner at which he was congratulated by his brother officers, he went to his room and found a letter overlooked in his rush to dress for mess. It was from Violet, the first that had come from her since his arrival in Ranga Dwar. It breathed passion and longing, discontent and despair in every line. As he laid his face on his arm to shut out the light, where he sat at the table, he felt that he was nearer to loving the absent woman than he had ever been. For the vision of the Dermot's married happiness, of the deep affection linking husband and wife, of the children climbing the stairs and smiling back at their parents, came vividly to him, and it haunted him in his sleep when in dreams tiny arms were clasped round his neck and baby lips touched his lovingly. From the frontier of Bhutan, six thousand feet up on the face of the mountains, a line of men wound down the serpentining track that led to Ranga Dwar. At their head walked a stockly built man with cheery Mongolian features, wearing a white cloth garment, kimono-shaped and kilted up to give freedom to the sturdy bare thighs and knees, the legs and feet cased in long, felt, sold boots. It was the Deb Zimpun, the envoy of the independent border state of Bhutan. Behind him came a tall man in khaki tunic, breeches, putis and cap, his breasts covered with bright-colored ribbons. His uniform was similar to the British, but his face was unmistakably Chinese. As were those of the twenty tall khaki-clad soldiers armed with magazine rifles at his heels. They were followed by three or four-score Bhutanese swordsmen, thick-set and not unlike Gurkas in feature, with bare heads, legs and feet, and clad only in a single garment similar to their leaders and kilted up by a cord around the waist, from which hung a da, a short sword or long knife. In rear of them trudged a number of koolies, some laden with bundles, others with baskets of fruit. Where the track came out on the bare shoulder of a spur free from the small trees and undergrowth clothing the mountains, the Deb Zimpun pointed to the ruse of the building in the little station a thousand feet below them, and hitherto invisible to them. That is Rangadwar, he said briefly, the China men behind him looked down at it. It seems a very small and weak place to have stopped our invading troops in the war, he said in Bhutanese, so here lives the man. The man? Yes, perhaps he is a man, but many, very many, there be that think him a god or devil. They say he can call up a horde of demons in the form of elephants, with such he trampled your army into the earth. Devils leave such tales to Lamas and the ignorant fools that believe their teaching, but if even a part of what I have heard about this man be true, he is more dangerous than many devils. He stands in China's way, and he who does shall be swept aside. He is my friend, said the Deb Zimpun shortly, and tramped on in silence. Before they reached the station, they were met by two of the political officer's men, buteous resident in British territory, detailed to receive and guide them to the government-back bungalow, in which the Deb Zimpun, and as many of his followers as could crowd into it, were to reside during their stay, arrived at it the long line filed into the compound. Half a mile away, down the hill, Colonel Dermott and Wargrave watched them through their field-glasses. Who is that fellow in khaki uniform, sir? asked the subaltern. The political officer lowered his binoculars and laughed. A gentleman I have been very anxious to meet. He is the Chinese Amben. We call him an envoy of the Republic of China to Bhutan, but the Chinese themselves prefer to regard him as a representative of the Suzerainty. They pretend to exercise over the country. I am curious to see him. He is a product of the times. An example of the modern celestial, educated at Heidelberg University in Oxford, speaks German, French, and English. He has been specially chosen by his government to come to a Buddhist land, as he is a son of the abbot of the Yellow Lama Temple in Peking, and so might have influenced with the Bhutanese by reason of his connection with their religion. But what have the Chinese to do with Bhutan? Nothing now, but they have been intriguing for years to re-establish the Suzerainty they once had over it. This Amben, one sea-hun by name, is a clever, unscrupulous, and particularly dangerous individual. You seem to know a lot about him, Colonel. It's my business to do so. There is no apparent reason for his coming here with the Deb Zimpun, nor has he a right to. But I won't object, for I want to study and size him up. By the way, the envoy will make his official call on me this morning. Would you like to be present? Very much indeed. I am always interested in seeing the various races of India, and learning all I can about them. I love a job like your sir, going in, out of the way places and dealing with strange peoples. Would you, the political officer looked at him thoughtfully, are you good at picking up native languages? Fairly so. I got through my lower and higher standard Hindustani first go, and have passed in Marathi and taken the higher standard Persian. Colonel Dermot regarded him critically, and then said abruptly, come to my office a few minutes before eleven. That's the hour I fixed for the Deb Zimpun's visit. Punctually at the time, named Wargrave Reach, the Dermot Spunglow, on the road outside of which, a guard of honour of fifty sepoys, under an Indian officer, was drawn up. Passing along the veranda he entered the office and saluted the Colonel who, seated at his desk, looked up and nodded for him to be seated, and then returned to the dispatch that he was writing. In a few minutes a confused murmur drew nearer down the road and was stilled by the sharp words of command to the guard of honour, and by the ring of rifles brought to the present in salute. Over the low wall of the garden appeared the heads and shoulders of the envoy and his Chinese companion, followed by a train of attendants and swordsmen. They passed in through the gate. The political officer rose as the Deb Zimpun removed his cap, entered the office, and rushed towards him. The bullet headed, cheery old gentleman beamed with pleasure, as they shook hands and greeted each other in boutonnese. Wargrave marveled at the ease and fluency with which Colonel Dermott spoke the language. The amban now entered the room and was formally presented by the Deb Zimpun. Speaking in excellent English, but with an accent that showed that he had first acquired it in Germany, he said, I am very pleased to meet you, Colonel. I have heard much of you in boutonnese. It gives me equal pleasure to make your excellencies acquaintance and to welcome you to India, replied Dermott, with a bow. Then in his turn Wargrave was presented to the two Asiatics, and the envoy, calling an attendant in, took from him two white scarves of Chinese silk, and placed one round each officer's neck in the custom known as Kattag. All sat down, and the envoy plunged into an animated conversation with Colonel Dermott, first producing a metal box and taking beetle nut from it to chew, while the attendant placed a spittoon conveniently near him. Yun Shi Hung chatted in English with Wargrave, who was astonished to find him a well educated man of the world and thoroughly conversant with European politics, art, and letters. But for the inscrutable yellow face the subaltern could have believed himself to be talking to an able continental diplomat. The contrast between the semi-savage boutonnese official and his companion, in whom the most modern civilized gentleman's manners were successfully grafted on the old-time courtesy of the Chinese aristocrat, was very striking. The old envoy was a frank barbarian. He laughed loudly and clapped his hands in glee when Colonel Dermott presented him with a gramophone, which, it appeared, he had longed for ever since seeing one on a previous visit to India, and taught him how to work it. He showed his beetle-stained teeth in an ecstatic grin when a record was turned on and from the trumpet came the political officer's familiar voice addressing him by name and in his own language with many flourishes of Oriental compliment. Towards the termination of their call the deb zoom pin called into attendance with large baskets of fine blood oranges and walnuts from Bhutan and presented them in return. A number of coulis were needed to carry off the royal gift of the flesh of the bison, the sight of which made the envoy's eyes glisten. He shook Wargrave's hand warmly when he learned to whose rifle he owed it. Then he and his Chinese companion took their leave, and with their followers passed up the hilly road. Wargrave, gazing after them, came to the conclusion that of the pair he preferred the savage to the ultra-cultivated celestial. Having thanked the Colonel for permitting him to be present at the interview, which had interested him greatly, the subaltern was about to leave when Mrs. Dermott appeared at the office door. May I come in, Kevin? She began. Oh, good morning, Mr. Wargrave. I was just sending a chit letter to you and Captain Burke, asking you to tea this afternoon. A couli has arrived from the Pilkhana to say that Mr. and Miss Benson and Mr. Carter are on their way up and will be here soon, so you'll meet them at tea. You will like Miss Benson. She's a dear girl. Thanks very much, Mrs. Dermott. I'd be delighted to come. If you'll forgive me, should I be a little late. I've got to take the signalers' parade this afternoon. I'll tell Burke when I get to the mess. I'm going straight there now. Thank you. That will save me writing. Au revoir. Halfway up the road to the mess, Wargrave looked back and saw an elephant heave into sight, around a bend below the Dermott's house, and plod heavily up to their gate. On the charjama, the passenger-carrying contrivance of wooden seats on the pad, with footboards hanging by short ropes, sat a lady and two European men holding white umbrellas up to keep off the vertical rays of the noonday sun. When the animal sank to its knees in front of the bungalow, Wargrave saw the girl. It could only be Miss Benson springed lightly to the ground before either of her companions could dismount and offer to help her. Her big sun hat hid her face, and at that distance Wargrave could only see that she was small and slight as she walked up the garden path. When the signalers' afternoon practice was over, the subaltern passed across the parade ground to the political officer's house. When he entered the pretty drawing room, bright with the gay colors of chintz curtains and cushions, he found the strangers present. One man talking to Mrs. Dermott at her tea-table, the other chatting with the colonel, while Burke was installed, beside a girl seated in a low cane chair, and dressed in a smart, hand embroidered, tassour silk dress, suede shoes, and silk stockings. Little Brian stood beside her with one arm affectionately around her neck, while Eileen was purged in her lap. But when Frank appeared, the mite wriggled down to the floor and rushed to him. The subaltern was presented to Miss Benson, her father and Carter, the sub-divisional officer or civil service official of the district. When he sat down, Eileen clambered on to his knee, and seriously interfered with his peaceful enjoyment of his tea. But while he talked to her, he was watching Miss Benson over the small golden head. She was astonishingly pretty, with silky black hair curving in natural waves. Dark-bordered Irish gray eyes fringed with long thick lashes, a rose-tinted complexion, a pouting red-lip mouth, and a small nose, with the most fascinating, provoking suspicion of a tip tilt. She was as small and daintyly fashion as her hostess, and Wargrey thought it marvellous that their forgotten outpost on the face of the mountains should hold two such pretty women at the same time. His comrade Burke was evidently acutely conscious of Muriel Benson's attractions, and his pleasantly ugly face aglow, with a happy smile. He was flirting as openly and outrageously with her as she with him. Sure, it's a cure for sore eyes ye are, Miss Flower Face, he said. That's the name I christened her with. The first moment I saw her, Wargrave, doesn't it fit her? Then turning to the girl again, he continued, aren't you ashamed of yourself for laving me to pine for a sight, have ye all these weary months? Miss Benson could claim to be Irish on her mother's side, and so was a ready-witted match for the doctor's Celtic exuberance, though to Wargrave watching it seemed that Burke's easy banter cloaked a deeper feeling. Drawn into the conversation, Frank found the girl to be natural and unaffected, without a trace of conceit, gifted with a keen sense of humor and evidently as full of the joy of living as a schoolboy. He thought her laugh delightfully musical, and it was frequently and readily evoked by Burke's droll remarks or the quaint oracular sayings from the self-possessed elf on Wargrave's knee. Her admiration of and genuine affection for Mrs. Dermott was very evident when Noreen joined their group. The subaltern covertly and critically observing her could hardly believe the tales which the hostess had previously told him of the courage and ability that this small and dainty girl had frequently shown, but only a few minutes' conversation with her father convinced Frank that he was an amnably weak and incompetent individual, more fitted to be a recluse and a bookworm than a romer in wild jungles, where his work brought him in contact with strange peoples and constant danger. It was evident that the reputation which his large section of the Terai forest bore as being well managed and efficiently run was not due to him and that somebody more capable had the handling of the work. Hardly had Wargrave come to this conclusion and begun to believe that the stories that he had heard of the daughter's business ability and powers of organization were true when he was given a very convincing proof of her courage and coolness in danger. After tea, as the sun was nearing its setting and a deliciously cool breeze blew down from the mountains, a move was made to the garden where the party sat in a circle and chatted. When evening came and the dust rose up from the world below, blotting out the light lingering on the hills, Mrs. Dermott made her children say good night to the company and bore them reluctant away to their beds. As the darkness deepened, the servants brought out a small table and placed a lamp on it, and by its light carried round drinks to the men of the party. Miss Benson was leaning back in a cane chair and chatting lazily with Burke, who sat beside her. She had one shapely silk-clad leg crossed over the other and a small foot resting on the grass. Opposite her sat Colonel Dermott and Wardgrave. As the brilliant tropic stars came out in the velvety blackness of the sky, occasional silences fell on the party. A tale of Burke's was interrupted by the political officer's voice, saying in a quiet forceful tone, Miss Benson, please do not move your foot. Remain perfectly still. A snake is passing under your chair. Steady Burke, keep still. There was a terror-stricken hush Frank looked across in horror. The lamp-light barely showed in the shadow under the chair a deadly hill viper writhing its way out within a few inches of the small foot firmly planted in its dainty, high-heeled shoe. He looked at the motionless girl, less pale than the men. About her she sat quietly, smiling faintly and apparently not frightened by the death, almost touching her. One pink hand lay without a tremor in her lap, but the other rested on the arm of her chair and the knuckles showed as white as the fingers gripped the bamboo tightly. She did not even glance down, but the men, frozen with dread, watched the shadowy writhing line passing her foot slowly, all too slowly, until it had wriggled out into the center of the circle of motionless beings. Then Colonel Dermott sprang up, seizing his light bamboo chair in a powerful grip. He rolled it aloft and brought it crashing down on the viper, shattering the chair but smashing the reptile's spine in half a dozen places. The other men had risen from their seats, but the girl remained seated and said quietly, Thank you very much, Colonel. For warning me, I might easily have moved my foot and trodden on the stake. I've seen so many of the hoared things in camp lately. Now, Captain Burke, I'm sorry that the interruption spoiled your story. Please go on with it. Her coolness silenced the men, who were breaking into exclamations of relief and congratulation. Even her father sat down again calmly. But Burke's enthusiastic admiration of her courage found an outlet at mess that night when he recounted the adventure to major hunt and appealed to Wargrave for confirmation of the story of her plucky behavior. Later in his room, as he was going to bed, Frank smiled at the recollection of the Irishman's exuberant expressions, but he confessed to himself that the girl's calm courage was worthy of every praise. She is certainly brave, he thought. I'm not surprised at old Burke's infatuation. She is decidedly pretty, what lovely eyes she's got, and what a provokingly attractive little nose. While the Doctor's a lucky man if she marries him, she seems awfully nice. Violet will certainly have two very charming women friends in the station if she hits it off with them. But as his eyes rested on her pictured face, his heart misgave him, for he remembered that she had little liking for her own sex, and then he told himself these two would probably refuse to know a woman who had run away from her husband to another man. When he had turned out the light and jumped into bed, he lay awake a long time puzzling over the tangle into which the threads of her life and his seemed to have got. Time alone could unravel it. He tossed uneasily on his bed, unable to sleep, and presently a slight noise on the veranda outside caught his ear. He lay still and listened, and it seemed to him that soft foot-fulls of a large animal's pads sounded on the wooden flooring, then suddenly he heard a beast sniffing at his closed door. A stray dog, he thought, but suddenly he remembered Burke's account of the panther that haunted the mess, and a thrill of excitement ran through him and drove all his unhappy thoughts away. He sprang out of bed and rushed across a room to get his rifle, but in the darkness overturned a chair which fell with a crash to the ground. This scared the animal, for there was a sudden scurry outside, and by the time Wargrave had found the rifle and groped for a couple of cartridges there was nothing to be seen on the veranda when he threw open the door. It was a brilliant star lit night. Burke called to him from his room, and when Wargrave went to him said that he too had heard the animal, which was undoubtedly the panther. Returning to bed, Frank was dropping off to sleep half an hour later when he was startled by a shrill, agonized shriek coming from a distance. Rifle in hand he rushed out on to the veranda again, and heard faint shouts coming from a small group of butia huts on a shoulder of the hills, hundreds of feet above the mess. He called out, but got no answer, and after lift-sning for some time and hearing nothing further he returned to bed, and at last fell asleep. In the morning he learned that the panther had made a daring braid on a hut and carried off a butia woodcutter's baby from its sleeping mother's side, and had devoured it in the jungle, not two hundred yards away. The derber, or official ceremony of the public reception of the butan envoy, and the paying over to him of the annual subsidy of a hundred thousand rupees, was held in a marquee on the parade ground in the afternoon. There was a guard of honour of a hundred sepoys to salute, first the political officer and afterwards the deb-zimpoon when he arrived on a mule at the head of the swordsmen and coulis. The solemn nimity of his dignified greeting to Colonel Dermot was somewhat spoiled by shrieks of delight and loud remarks from Eileen, who was seated beside her mother in the marquee, at the stately appearance of the envoy. He was attired in a very voluminous red Chinese silk robe embroidered in gold and wearing a peculiar gold-edged cap shaped like a papal tiara. The political officer's official dinner took place that evening at his bungalow. Besides the officers and the three European visitors, the deb-zimpoon and the empan were present, the latter wore conventional evening dress cut by a London tailor, with the stars and ribbons of several orders, but the old envoy in his flowing red silk robe completely outhawned the two ladies, although Miss Benson was wearing her most striking flock. Sure we don't look like a state banquet at Beckingham Palace or a charity dinner at the Dublin Mansion House, said Burke, looking around the company gathered about the oval dining table. He was seated beside Miss Benson, who was on the host's right and facing the am-ben on his left. At the Durbur Wargrave had noticed that the Chinamen stared all the time at the girl, and now during the meal he seemed to devour her with an unpleasant gaze, gloating over the beauties of her baird shoulders and bosom until she became uncomfortably conscious of herself. The unveiled flesh of a white woman is peculiarly attractive to the Asiatic. The better-class females of whose race are far less addicted to the public exposure of their charms than are European ladies. While the Deb's Simpoon touched nothing but water, the am-ben drank champagne, port and liqueurs freely. Even the untraveled Chinamen is partial to European liquors, yet they seem not to affect him, but his slanted eyes burned all the more fiercely as their gaze was fixed on the girl opposite him. He endeavored to engage her in conversation across the table, and appeared ready to resent anyone else intervening in the talk, as he dilated on the gayities and pleasures of life in London, Berlin, and Paris, where he had been attached to the Chinese embassies. He glared at Burke when the doctor persisted in mentioning the panther's visit during the previous night, for the conversation at their end of the table then turned on sport. A chance remark of Miss Benson on tiger shooting made Wargrave ask, Have you shot tigers, too, like Mrs. Dermott? And I've never seen one outside a cage. The girl smiled, and the Colonel answered for her. Miss Benson has got at least six. Seven is it? More than my wife has, and among them was the famous man-eater of Mardurha, which had killed twenty-three persons. The natives of the district call her the Tiger Girl. Troth, my name for you is a prettier one, Miss Benson, said Burke laughing. She made a moo at him, but said to the subaltern, Cheer up, Mr. Wargrave. You've got lots of time before you get. You oughtn't to complain. You've only been a few days here, and you've already got a splendid bison, and they're rare in these parts. We'll have to find him a tiger, Muriel, said the host. When you hear of a kill anywhere conveniently near, let me know, and we'll arrange a beat for him. With pleasure, Colonel. We're soon going to the southern fringe of the forest, and, as you know, there are usually tigers to be found in the mollusks on the borders of the cultivated country. I'll send you Kerberber news. Thank you very much, said Wargrave. I do want to get one. All through the conversation the girl felt the Chinaman's bold eyes seeming to burn her flesh, and she was glad when the political officer spoke to him and engaged his attention, and she was still more relieved when dinner ended, and Mrs. Dermott rose to leave the table. When the men joined them, later, on the veranda Burke and Wargrave made a point of hemming her in on both sides and keeping the amban off, for even the short-sighted doctor had become cognizant of the Chinaman's offensive stare. When he and the Deb Zimpun had left the bungalow, she said to the two officers, I'm so glad you didn't let that awful man come near me. He makes me afraid. There's something so evil about him that I shudder when he looks at me. The curse of the crows on the brute, explained Burke hotly, don't ye be afraid. We won't let the devil come next or nigh ye, will we Wargrave? And on the following day when the visitors were entertained by athletic sports of the detachment on the parade ground and an interesting archery competition between excited teams of the Deb Zimpun's followers and of local Boutiers, they allowed the ampen no opportunity of approaching her. During the sports, Wargrave noticed on one occasion that he seemed to be speaking of her to the commander of his escort of Chinese soldiers, a tall, evil-faced Manchu, pockmarked and blind of the right eye, who stared at her fixedly for some time. At the dinner at the mass that night the two ladies were frocks that were very little decoté. Burke, as Ms. President, had arranged the table so that the ampen was as far away from them as possible, and Wargrave and he mounted guard over Ms. Benson when the meal was ended. The Deb Zimpun had fixed his departure for an early hour on the following morning, and was to be accompanied by the political officer, who was going to visit the Maraja of Bhutan. In the course of the day the Chinese ampen had announced to Colonel Dermot that he did not wish to leave so soon and desired to remain longer in Rangadwar, but the political officer courtesely but very firmly told him that he must go with the envoy. Early next morning, while Noreen Dermot was occupied with her children and her husband was completing his preparations for departure, Muriel Benson went out into the garden. Bad Shah, pad strapped on ready for the road, was standing at one side of the bungalow swinging his trunk and shifting from foot to foot as he patiently awaited his master. The girl greeted and petted him, then went to gather flowers, and cut branches of bright-colored leaves from high bushes of Bukhavalia and Poinsettia that hid her from view from the house. Suddenly a harsh voice sounded in her ears. I have tried to speak to you alone, but those fools were ever in my way. Do not cry out, you must listen to me. She started violently and turned to find the Amben, dressed in khaki and ready to march behind her, courageous as she usually was, the extraordinary repulsion and terror with which she inspired her, kept her silent as he continued. I want you, and I shall take you sooner or later. Listen, I am one of the richest men in all China. One day I shall be president, and then emperor the next, and when I rule my country shall no longer be the effete despised land torn with dissension that it is now. I can give you everything that the heart of a woman, white or yellow, can desire. Take you from your dull, poverty-stricken life, to raise you to power and immense wealth. I shall return for you one day. Will you come to me? The girl drew back, pale as death, and unable to cry out. He glanced around. The tall red-leaved bushes hit them. There was no one or nothing within sight except the elephant shifting restlessly. Answer me, he said, almost menacingly. She was silent. He sprang forward and seized her roughly. Speak, you must answer, he said. The girl shrank at his touch and struggled in vain in this powerful grasp. Then suddenly she cried out, Batsha! The China men thrust his face, inflamed with passion and desire, close to hers. You must, you shall, come to me by force, if not willingly, he growled, by all the gods or devils. But at that instant he was plucked from her by a resistless force and hurled violently to the ground. Dazed and half-stunned, he looked up and saw the elephant standing over him, with one colossal foot poised over his prostate body, ready to crush him to pulp. Brave as the China men was, he trembled with terror at the imminent awful death. But a quiet voice sounded clear through the garden. Jane Doe, let him go! The elephant brought the threatening foot to the ground, but stood, with curled trunk and ears cocked forward, ready to annihilate him, if the invisible speaker gave the word. The girl shrank against the great animal, claiming to it, and looking with horror at the prostrate man. The amban slowly dragged his bruised body from the ground, and staggered shaken and dizzy out of the garden. Muriel kissed the soft trunk and laid her cheek against it, and it curved to touch her hair with a gentle caress. Then she fled into the bungalow to find Colonel Dermot on the veranda grimly watching. The China men stumbling blindly up the steep road. His wife beside him opened her arms to the shaken girl. He shall pay for that some day, Muriel, said the political officer sternly, but not yet. An hour later the two women watched the snaking line crawl up the steep face of the mountains, and through field-glasses they could distinguish Bad Sha with his master on its neck, the Debs and Poon and his followers, and the tall form of the China men, until all vanished from sight in the trees clothing the upper hills. Benson and Carter left that afternoon. Muriel remained to spend a little longer with her friend, and, as she told Wargrave, to try and regain the affections of the children which he had stolen from her. Frank was thinking of her the next day, as he was standing on the mess veranda after tea, cleaning his fouling piece. When on a wooded spur running down from the mountains and sheltering the little station on the west, he heard a jungle clock crowing in the undergrowth, not a four hundred yards away. Seizing a handful of cartridges, he loaded his gun and, running down the steps and across the garden, plunged into the jungle. He walked cautiously. His rope sold boots, enabling him to move silently, and stopped occasionally to listen for the bird's crow or the teletel pattering over the dried leaves. Peering into the undergrowth and searching the ground, he kept quietly forward. Suddenly his heart seemed to leap to his throat. In a patch of dust he saw the unmistakable pug footprint of a large panther. One claw had indented a new fallen leaf, showing that the animal had very recently passed. Wargrave halted and thought hard. He had only his shotgun, but the sun was near its setting, and, if he returned to the mess to get his rifle, which was taken to pieces and locked up in its case, darkness would probably fall before he could overtake the panther, which was possibly moving on ahead of him. So he resolved not to turn back, but opened the breach of his gun and extracted the cartridges. With his knife he cut their thick cases almost through all round at the wad, dividing the powder from the shot, for he knew that thus treated and fired the whole upper portion of the cartridges would be shot out of the barrels like solid bullets, and carry forty yards without breaking up and scattering the shot. Reloading, he advanced cautiously, frequently losing, and refinding the trail. Creeping through a clump of thin bushes, he stopped suddenly, frozen with horror and dread. In an open patch of woodland, the two dermat children stood by a tree. The girl huddled against the trunk, while the little boy had placed himself in front of her, and, with a small stick in his hand, was bravely facing, in her defense, an animal crouching on the ground, not twenty yards away. It was a large panther, belly to earth, tail lashing from side to side. It was crawling slowly, imperceptibly, nearer its prey. With ears flattened against the skull, and lips drawn back to bear the gleaming fangs, in a devilish grin, it snarled at the brave child, whose dauntless attitude doubtless puzzled it. Don't cry, Eileen. I won't let it hurt you, said the little boy, encouragingly. Go away, nasty dog! He raised his little stick above his head. A boy should always protect a girl, his father had often said. So he was not going to let the beast harm his tiny sister. The panther crouched lower, the watcher in the bushes saw the powerful limbs gathering under the spotted body for the fatal spring. Every muscle and sinew was tense for the last rush and leap as the subaltern raised his gun. End of chapter eight