A PROWLING SCOUNDREL 49 



wards the north-west. On turning towards the 

 north the abomination of desolation grew more 

 abominable at every step, so I altered my 

 course to the left and descended the steep side 

 of the red-hot dust-heap. Soon I found 

 myself on the edge of a plain lying between 

 two dune-tentacles which were about a mile 

 apart. In more or less the centre of this plain 

 was a small patch of low scrub, and towards 

 the latter a single jackal was loping. He was 

 of the " silver " variety ; consequently his pelt 

 was of value. I felt I wanted that pelt. The 

 only good jackal is a dead jackal. I had no 

 qualms of conscience about taking this crea- 

 ture's life. 



My slinking friend whose opulent coat of 

 silver-striped fur I coveted, reached the little 

 patch of scrub and crouched down in it. But 

 the bushes were so low and sparse that I could 

 distinctly see his erect, pointed ears. Now, 

 I meant to have some amusement out of 

 that marauder, that prowling scoundrel who 

 butchered young fawns and plundered the 

 nests of birds. So I lit my pipe and strolled, 

 not towards the patch of scrub ; that would 

 have been far too obvious a thing to do, but 

 as though I meant to pass it by some distance 

 to the right. I did pass it, but immediately 



