XI 

 JUNGLE NIGHT 



WITHIN gun-reach in front of me trudged 

 my little Akawai Indian hunter. He turned 

 his head suddenly, his ears catching some sound 

 which mine had missed, and I saw that his pro- 

 file was rather like that of Dante. Instantly 

 the thought spread and the simile deepened. 

 Were we two not all alone? and this unearthly 

 hour and light Then I chuckled softly, but the 

 silence that the chuckle shattered shrank away 

 and made it a loud, coarse sound, so that I in- 

 voluntarily drew in my breath. But it was 

 really amusing, the thought of Dante setting out 

 on a hunt for kinkajous and giant armadillos. 

 Jeremiah looked at me wonderingly, and we 

 went on in silence. And for the next mile 

 Dante vanished from my thoughts and I mused 

 upon the sturdy little red man. Jeremiah was 

 his civilized name; he would never tell me his 

 real one. It seemed so unsuited to him that I 



