PANTHER-FISHING IN MUNG BUNG 361 



" have a dive." A somewhat plump youth was now seen 

 endeavouring to efface himself with the aid of a neighbour- 

 ing boulder, and the act betrayed that there must be some- 

 thing behind his anxiety not to catch our eye. Perchance he 

 was known as a swimmer an aboriginal Leander, wont to 

 stem the monsoon floods when wooing his blubber-lipped 

 Hero in some distant hamlet ! Seizing on this youth, there- 

 fore, we knew a hit had been made, a palpable hit, for our 

 choice was received by a roar of joy from the other K6rkus, 

 who eagerly pushed him forward. 



The local Leander was therefore conducted, protesting 

 feebly, to the brink of the pool, and bid to prepare to 

 retrieve. Realising at length that we were deaf to his 

 entreaties although he assured us solemnly that the 

 panther might still be alive, and bite he removed a grey 

 and greasy head-cloth, and entered the pea-soupy water of 

 the pool feet first, and very deliberately. Slowly sunk his 

 head ; a last coil of lank black hair curled on the surface 

 amid a little maelstrom of oil and green scum; and the 

 pool had hidden another victim. 



After a while the waters broke, and the Korku's head 

 emerged. He dashed the scum from his eyes, and reflec- 

 tively wagged his head sidewise. 



Then down he went again. The spirit of the sport had 

 entered his soul ! 



At last the diver rose to the surface, and clutched the 

 rocky sides of the pot-hole with one hand. The other 

 evidently held something. Rushing to the edge as the 

 jungle man's grip relaxed its hold on the rock and just 

 missed our outstretched fingers, we grabbed him firmly by 

 that oleaginous head of hair. It slipped greasily through 

 our fingers. A couple of dexterous twists, however, 

 remedied that. "The bamboo!" I panted. My orderly 

 thrust it into my left hand. 



"Belay there!" I gasped. 



" Belay it is ! " came the response or its equivalent. 



