SLADANG. 107 



asked me in return to impart the nature of the charm 

 that I had used when I had peeled the shaving from 

 my thumb. I am afraid that it was in vain that I 

 explained that I had only wished to test the wind, 

 and in vain that I assured the two men, in reply to 

 further questions, that it had nothing to do with 

 preventing the sladang from taking alarm or from 

 winding us ; and I should not be surprised if to this 

 day they believe that an interesting bit of European 

 hunting lore had on this occasion come under their 

 observation, and that the secret of it had been jeal- 

 ously preserved and kept from them. 



After a short rest we finished our cigarettes and 

 returned to the river to get men to cut up the carcass. 

 It was nearly midday, and the open lalang plain 

 through which we had so painfully stumbled in the 

 darkness was baking in the sun. The dew had long 

 since evaporated, and the grass blades stood stiff, 

 hard, and dry. Long wavy lines of heat rose from 

 the plain and quivered against the background of a 

 cloudless sky. Dragon-flies, iridescent and bejewelled, 

 poised themselves over the grass, or, darting with 

 crisp, crackly noises, hawked for wasps and flies. 

 Rosy-breasted swallows circled overhead, and bee- 

 eaters, with gorgeous plumage of purple and green, 

 were making short flights with sudden upward 

 swoops to catch the dragon-flies. 



On the topmost branch of a small shrub, conspic- 

 uous by its isolation in the middle of the plain, an 

 extraordinary bird called a crow-pheasant seemed to 

 be drying itself in the sun. Its tail and wings were 

 spread out to their fullest extent, and every feather 



