PROWLER OF THE NIGHT 137 



of soft light falling through the spectral limbs 

 of the great trees. All the wild folk of the diur- 

 nal hours gradually come forth and pursue their 

 many ways. In the growing light the superb 

 scene is slowly unfolded as the sun creeps up 

 with his mighty glowing orb, turning the horizon 

 to a furnace of crimson fire. Now the tree tops 

 catch a golden glint as the level beams run like 

 long, bright fingers through the newly awakened 

 jungle. A flight of chattering paroquettes go 

 whirling and twisting through the trees. Day 

 has come. Slowly the intolerable hot-weather day 

 wears away in silence, but for the creaking of 

 the parched bamboos in the occasional breaths of 

 burning air, and the stirring of the sharp, dry 

 leaves, an occasional "caw" from the indefatiga- 

 ble crows, or the squeaking hiss of the quarrel- 

 some vultures as they greet the heavy flappings 

 of some newcomer settling among them. The 

 jungle grass, sand, trees, bamboos, rocks all are 

 quivering yellow-white in the furiously bright 

 glare of the tropical sun, and stand out blind- 

 ingly against the peculiar dull blue-black of the 

 relentless sky. Such birds as could be seen hid- 

 ing in the shade held their beaks agape, and all 

 nature seems to be panting and gasping in the 

 terrific heat of high noon. 



