THE LURE OF KARTABO 19 
One night I made a special effort and, with 
bared arm, prepared for a long vigil. In a few 
minutes bats began to fan my face, the wings 
almost brushing, but never quite touching my 
skin. I could distinguish the difference between 
the smaller and the larger, the latter having a 
deeper swish, deeper and longer drawn-out. 
Their voices were so high and shrill that the sing- 
ing of the jungle crickets seemed almost con- 
tralto in comparison. Finally, I began to feel 
myself the focus of one or more of these winged 
weasels. The swishes became more frequent, the 
returnings almost doubling on their track. Now 
and then a small body touched the sheet for an 
instant, and then, with a soft little tap, a vam- 
pire alighted on my chest. I was half sitting 
up, yet I could not see him, for I had found that 
the least hint of light ended any possibility of 
a visit. I breathed as quietly as I could, and 
made sure that both hands were clear. For a 
long time there was no movement, and the re- 
newed swishes made me suspect that the bat had 
again taken flight. Not until I felt a tickling 
on my wrist did I know that my visitor had 
shifted and, unerringly, was making for the arm 
which I had exposed. Slowly it crept forward, 
