156 THE WHITE-MANED SEROW 



wall of rock, where it may the more easily defend 

 itself. 



The hunters and dogs entered the wood below 

 me, and though it seemed as 1 looked down on 

 them that the winter undergrowth, stripped of 

 leaves, could conceal nothing, the twisting line 

 of men and hounds vanished where invisible cover 

 lurked, appearing and reappearing as the undula- 

 tions of the ground alternately hid and revealed 

 them. 



Far, far below me, where the green waters of the 

 river, swollen by rains boiled and swirled, I could 

 see tiny figures steering tiny yellow logs through 

 foaming rapids. They looked like pygmies playing 

 at spellikins seen through the wrong end of a 

 telescope. Logs jammed between the rocks, were 

 sheered off by the spellican players, slid through 

 a turmoil of waters, and swung gracefully into 

 an eddy, where a growing pile awaited them. 



The murmur of the waters came up to me faintly, 

 in a confused roar and I fancied a dog barked. 

 The sound came again, a dry, hoarse staccato note, 

 and I peered anxiously into the wood below. 

 An old crow sailed across the gulf, chuckling 

 derisively, and my momentary excitement died 

 away. Then long-drawn cries diverted me, and 

 were answered and re-echoed from the hill-tops. 

 A dog yapped, a shrill excited yelp, and the yells 

 redoubled. Then sudden silence, with only the 

 noise of the river below. The sharp crack of 

 George's rifle came from the opposide ridge, and, 

 a second later, a chorus of yells and shouts. He 

 had something, at any rate. A quarter of an hour 

 later Chi-shi, appearing on the ridge, yelled, 'Sangu 



