JUNGLE NIGHT 281 



of real color which the jungle had shown — 

 always excepting the ruby tail-light. Two tiny 

 red globes gleamed down at us, and as they 

 gleamed, moved without a sound, apparently 

 unattached, slowly through the foliage. Then 

 came a voice, as wandering, as impersonal as 

 the eyes — a sharp, incisive wheeeeeat! with a 

 cat-like timbre; and from the eyes and voice 

 I reconstructed a night monkey — a kinka- 

 jou. 



Then another notch was slipped and the jun- 

 gle for a time showed something of the exuber- 

 ance of its life. A paca leaped from its meal of 

 nuts and bounced away with quick, repeated 

 pats; a beetle with wings tuned to the bass clef 

 droned by; some giant tree-cricket tore the re- 

 maining intervals of silence to shreds with 

 unmuted wing-fiddles, cricks so shrill and high 

 that they well-nigh passed beyond the upper 

 register of my ear out again into silence. The 

 roar of another frog was comforting to my ear- 

 drums. 



Then silence descended again, and hours 

 passed in our search for sound or smell of the 

 animal we wished chiefest to find — the giant 

 armadillo. These rare beings have a distinct 



