JUNGLE NIGHT 273 



place and time, in utterly incongruous surround- 

 ings, it may in turn flash into consciousness — a 

 memory-simile stimulated by some sound of the 

 future. 



I stood in a patch of moonlight listening to 

 the baying of a hound, or so I thought: that 

 musical ululation which links man's companion 

 wolfwards. Then I thought of the packs of 

 wild hunting dogs, the dreaded " warracabra 

 tigers," and I turned to the Indian at my elbow, 

 full of hopeful expectation. With his quiet 

 smile he whispered, '' kunama" and I knew I 

 had heard the giant tree-frog of Guiana — a frog 

 of size and voice well in keeping with these 

 mighty jungles. I knew these were powerful 

 beenas with the Indians, tokens of good hunt- 

 ing, and every fortunate benab would have its 

 dried mummy frog hung up with the tail of the 

 giant armadillo and other charms. Well might 

 these batrachians arouse profound emotions 

 among the Indians, familiar as they are with 

 the strange beings of the forest. I could 

 imagine the great goggle-eyed fellow sprawled 

 high near the roof of the jungle, clutching the 

 leaves with his vacuum-cupped toes. The moon- 

 light would make him ghostly — a pastel frog; 



