TIME'S FINGER 289 



of red rock, was the predicted bush with keen prickles 

 thick-set on hmber branches. Half amused, I climbed 

 to the spot, and, clinging precariously to the principal 

 stem, cut off a branch which, falling into the ravine, 

 slipped several yards down the smooth floor. It was 

 not worth recovering, but a certain half-humorous 

 sense of obedience to the black boy's cautions induced 

 me to return for it ; and as I trimmed off some of the 

 prickles that it might be grasped comfortably, a stone 

 clattered down, bouncing on the rock almost at my feet. 



A substantial mystery ! What invisible agency had 

 given this hard fact its force ? A gleeful chuckle 

 followed by a discordant crow dissipated doubt — the 

 stone had been dislodged by an industrious scrub fowl 

 raking on the brink of the ravine. A sense of fellow- 

 ship with the harsh-voiced bird manifested itself. A 

 transient sensation of relief — I had not been conscious 

 of the least mental depression — followed the thought 

 that in and about the ravine there were other living 

 things besides myself and snakes. The death adder, 

 the head of which I had fatally bruised just now, had 

 been the only sign of life, and it had been as dull- 

 coloured and almost as inert as the rock on which it 

 lay — an emblem of death at home in this almost life- 

 less seclusion. Dwelling with amusement on Wylo's 

 suggested precautions, I bore the branch before me as 

 I climbed a steep face, the tomahawk in my belt, intent 

 for the time being, and as cautious and suspicious as 

 a black boy. On the lip of what seemed to be a hollow 

 a fig-tree grew, the naked, interlacing roots of which 

 made the final stages of the ascent easy and safe. 

 Briskly hauling myself up, I stepped over the edge of 

 the depression, and the soHd rock lapsed and slid under- 

 foot. 



In a flash the head of a python arose, and with gaping 



19 



