24 RIFLE AND ROMANCE 



Round the next bend of the watercourse a few huge 

 wild mango trees reared their dark trunks aloft, and 

 drooped and stretched out thick, gnarled, leafy arms, 

 casting a black and impenetrable shadow over the bed 

 of the narrow glen. Under the trees the air was damp 

 and chill. Some small animal ran suddenly startled away, 

 passed into the moonlit grass, and vanished. 



A slender shaft of moonlight pierced the pitchy canopy 

 of mango leaves, and fell, drawing a silver line at the 

 margin of one little lonely pool. 



A silent, lone, and secret spot. 



Round this rare and precious remnant of the life- 

 sustaining fluid the soft black mud had been stirred and 

 puddled, stamped and soiled by innumerable nightly hoofs 

 of the wild pig and deer that inhabited the neighbouring 

 solitudes, and were dependent on this one spot whereat 

 to slake their impatient thirst. Down the steep confining 

 banks many well-worn and dusty little paths through the 

 long grass showed where and how they made their break- 

 neck descents to the water. 



The tigress and her young had passed into the shadows 

 beyond the pool. A slight, low purring breathing was 

 heard for a moment, and a stone turned gently once. 



The disturbed plover wheeled a few times against the 

 luminous starry sky ; settled ; rose again shrieking ; then 

 finally settled down in the river-bed, cried "Did did 

 did-he-do-it!" or " Tit-tit-tdri 7" (as the native will translate 

 this bird's cry) and relapsed into silence. 



The big black trees, the quiet, unruffled pool, the white 

 moonlight here, the inky shadow there, save for the low 

 chirpings of crickets, or a wakeful frog at intervals, and 

 the quick "Chuckoo chuckoo chuckoo!" of a far-away 

 nightjar all were as still and apparently as deserted as 

 the grave. 



Now and then a ripened jungle mango would slip from 

 its stalk and drop with a little thud to the ground. 



