JUNGLE NIGHT 291 



A momentary shiver of leaves drew our eyes 

 to the left, and we began to destroy the optical 

 images evolved by the moon-shadows and to seek 

 for the small reality which we knew lived and 

 breathed somewhere on that branch. Then a 

 sharp crack like a rifle lost whatever it was to 

 us forever, and we half leaped to our feet as 

 something swept downward through the air and 

 crashed length after length among the plants 

 and fallen logs. The branches overhead rocked 

 to and fro, and for many minutes, like the after- 

 math of a volcanic eruption, came a shower, first 

 of twigs and swirling leaves, then of finer par- 

 ticles, and lastly of motes which gleamed like 

 silver dust as they sifted down to the trail. 

 When the air cleared I saw that the monkey- 

 ladder had vanished and I knew that its yards 

 upon yards of length lay coiled and crushed 

 among the ferns and sprouting palms of the 

 jungle floor. It seemed most fitting that the 

 vegetable kingdom, whose silence and majesty 

 gave to the jungle night its magic qualities, 

 should have contributed this memorable climax. 



Long before the first Spaniard sailed up the 

 neighboring river, the monkey ladder had thrown 

 its spirals aloft, and through all the centuries. 



