fore, very much out of temper, he abandoned the idea of persuading his companions to rejoin him that night.
Meanwhile, much time had been wasted, and already the waters of the Mîsong were running red beneath the ruddy glow overhead that marked the setting of the sun. The tocsin of the insect world was ringing through the forest, and the birds' chorus was slowly dying into silence. High above the topmost branches of the trees, the moon, not yet at the full, was showing pale and faint, though each moment the power of its gentle light was gaining strength. Pandak Âris glanced at these things, and drew from them a number of conclusions. It was too late for him to push on to the mouth of the Mîsong, near which his camp had been pitched that morning; for no Malay willingly threads the jungle unaccompanied, and least of all after darkness has fallen. It was too late, also, to erect a camp on the salt lick, for after the shock which his nerves had sustained from the attack of the rogue elephant. he had no fancy for penetrating into the forest to cut the materials for a hut, unless at least one of the Sâkai would go with him. Therefore, he decided to camp on the bare earth at the foot of the monster tree near which he stood. It would be fairly light, he told himself, until some three hours before the dawn, and though his rice pot had been smashed, and he would have to go supperless to bed, he would light a big fire and sleep beside its protecting blaze. But here an unexpected difficulty presented itself.
