'I always take books with me, as you know, when I go into the jungle, and I
remember that that evening I lay reading Miss Florence Montgomery's
Misunderstood, with the tears running down my nose. When at last Juggins
whispered that time was up, that pretty story of child life had made me more sick
with Juggins and his disgusting scheme than ever.
'I never felt so like a criminal in all my life as I did that night as Juggins and I
crept out of the hut, over the sleeping bodies of my Malays; nor did I know
before, how hard it is to walk on an openwork flooring of sticks and boughs, if
one is anxious to do it without making a noise. We got out of the house at last,
without waking any of my fellows, and then began to creep along the edge of the
jungle that lined the clearing. Why did we think it necessary to creep? I do not
know, but somehow the long wait, and the uncanny sort of work we were after,
had set our nerves going a bit. The night was as still as most nights are in real
pukka jungle, that is to say it was as full of noises—little quiet beast and tree
noises—as an egg's full of meat, and every one of them made me jump like a
half broken gee shying. There was not a breath of air blowing in the clearing, but
the clouds were racing across the moon miles up above our heads, and the moon
looked as though it was scudding through them in the opposite direction like a
great white fire balloon. It was dark along the edge of the clearing, for the jungle
threw a heavy shadow, and Juggins kept knocking those great clumsy feet of his
against the stumps, and swearing softly, under his breath.
'When we got near the grave, the moon came out suddenly into a thinner cloud,
and the slightly increased light showed me something which made me clutch
Juggins by the arm.
'"Hold hard!" I whispered as I squatted down. "What is that on the grave?"
'Juggins hauled out his six-shooter with a tug, and, looking at his face, I saw,
what I had not noticed before, that he too was a trifle jumpy, though why I
cannot say. He squatted down quietly enough by my side, and pressed up against
me, a bit closer, I fancied, than he would have thought necessary at any other
time. I whispered to Juggins telling him not to shoot, and we sat there for nearly
a minute, I should think, peering through the darkness, trying to make out what
was the black thing on the grave, that was making that scratching noise.
'Then the moon came out into a patch of open sky, and we saw clearly at last,
and what it showed me did not make me feel better. The creature we had been
looking at was kneeling on the grave facing us. It, or rather she, was an old, old