JUNGLE NIGHT 267 



of the silvery collar, whose eerie wheeeo! or 

 more leisurely and articulate who-are-you? was 

 queried from stump and log. There was in it 

 the same hquid tang, the virile ringing of skates 

 on ice, which enriches the cry of the whip-poor- 

 will in our country lanes. 



Where the open trail skirted a hillside we 

 came suddenly upon a great gathering of these 

 goatsuckers, engaged in some strange midnight 

 revel. Usually they roost and hunt and call in 

 solitude, but here at least forty were collected 

 on the white sand within an area of a few yards. 

 We stopped and watched. They were dancing 

 — or, rather, popping, as corn pops in a hopper. 

 One after another, or a half dozen at a time, 

 they bounced up a foot or two from the ground 

 and flopped back, at the instant of leaving and 

 returning uttering a sudden, explosive wop! 

 This they kept up unceasingly for the five 

 minutes we gave to them, and our passage in- 

 terrupted them for only a moment. Later we 

 passed single birds which popped and wopped in 

 solitary state; whether practicing, or snobbishly 

 refusing to perform in public, only they could 

 tell. It was a scene not soon forgotten. 



Suddenly before us rose the jungle, raw- 



