THE LURE OF KARTABO 25 
swelling indignantly at this sudden interruption 
of his siesta. In a strong wind the stems bent 
and swayed, thrashing off every imperfect leaf 
and sweeping low across the roof, with strange 
scrapings and bamboo mutterings. But they 
hardly ever broke and fell. In the evening, how- 
ever, and in the night, after a terrific storm, a 
sharp, unexpected rat-tat-tat-tat, exactly like a 
machine-gun, would smash in on the silence, and 
two or three of the great grasses, which per- 
haps sheltered Dutchmen generations ago, would 
snap and fall. But the Indians and Bovianders 
who lived nearby, knew this was no wind, nor yet 
weakness of stem, but Sinclair, who was abroad 
and who was cutting down the bamboos for his 
own secret reasons. He was evil, and it was well 
to be indoors with all windows closed; but fur- 
ther details were lacking, and we were driven to 
clothe this imperfect ghost with history and habits 
of our own devising. 
The birds and other inhabitants of the bam- 
boos, were those of the more open jungle,—flocks 
drifting through the clumps, monkeys occasion- 
ally swinging from one to another of the elastic 
tips, while toucans came and went. At evening, 
flocks of parrakeets and great black orioles came 
