Alive in the Jungle: A Story for the Young

by Mary Hazelton Blanchard Wade

  *CHAPTER XII.*

  _*BEATING THE KOOND.*_

  As the boondee, with its two Mysore oxen, came in sight, Major Iffley,who had been watching for it at the gate of the deputy's compound, rodeout to meet it.

  "Come, old boy," he said to Mr. Desborough; "we are only waiting foryou. Marching orders have been out an hour or more. Come in and changeyour coat. No use going on an errand like ours in any colour butdead-leaf brown. St. Faine has got one waiting for you. Only be quick,for the brutes have not yet left their lair, and we have a four-mileride to reach it."

  Out sprung Mr. Desborough. Dare he put so much faith in a few faintmarks on a crumbling clod? Yet he was the first in the saddle as thehunting-train set forth from Runnangore. A most singular sight awaitedthem. As they looked down into the valleys they saw them filled withfluttering wings, and every mountain height encircled by its reddishcloud. All locusts, and nothing but locusts. Vultures and kites flewabout in great disorder. A cold breeze from the hills told of theprobability of a coming storm. In sheltered places the oppression inthe air was awful. The locusts called off the attention of the men, butthey also concealed them from the keen, bright eyes that were waking upwith thoughts of evening prey.

  As they drew nearer the hills, the ground became so rough and broken thehorses began to stumble. There was nothing for it but to dismount, leavethe horses with the grooms, and proceed on foot. Tara Ghur, the oldhunter with the wonderful Tartar eye, took the lead. On, on they creptin perfect silence, until they perceived the sheen of a pool of watersparkling at their feet. It lay at the base of a projecting spur ofrock, and was overlooked by the picturesque ruins of a native temple.It was small, and overgrown with tall tropical weeds. The flight ofsteps to the temple court was half buried in mud. The white pillars ofthe colonnade which surrounded it were still unbroken, but the domeabove the shrine had fallen in. Yew and cypress flourished on the spotwhere Hindu suppliants were used to bring their offerings to Mata Devee,the dreaded goddess of destruction.

  How strange Oliver felt it to be living in a land where idols abound!One by one they climbed the broken stair, and gathering round theprostrate figure of the fallen idol, arranged their plan. From thisascent they looked down upon the sombre depths of the rugged koond.Round the shoulder of the hill, on the other side, was the entrance to asimilar gorge. Tara Ghur led them towards the one in which he had dug upthe footprint. He sent the jogies forward one after the other, like aliving ladder, until they reached the topmost height of the precipice atthe back of the koond.

  Another division, who were to act as scouts, climbed the trees, some ofthem warily venturing further and further into the leafy abyss, leapinglike monkeys from bough to bough.

  Mr. Desborough, the deputy, and the major took up their position wherethe opening was the narrowest, so that no living thing hiding within thedarkest recesses could rush out unseen. Mr. Desborough and the deputywere on one side; the major, Oliver, and the old shikaree on the other.The space between them was scarcely more than fifty yards across. OldTara had marked the trees commanding the surest outlook. Mr. Desboroughwas the first to mount to his post of observation. The hunter handedhim up his loaded gun.

  "No, no," said the father; "no firing."

  "No firing!" repeated the major. "Then how do you expect to recover thechild from a pack of raging wolves? Face the truth like a man,Desborough. If your boy is alive in this jungle, some wolf has adoptedhim, and it will guard that child with all the affectionate fidelity ofa noble-hearted dog."

  "Ah! but you need the true, clear eye and unerring hand of a WilliamTell. Not one of us possesses them. No, no; I dare not suffer a singleshot to be fired," answered the father desperately.

  "Well," interposed the deputy soothingly, "nothing of the sort may benecessary. We are not yet sure this child, if child there be, is yours.Trust us, we have come to save it, not to hurt it. Still, I say, wemust rescue it at all risks."

  "Time, sahib, time presses," urged the shikaree.

  They climbed into their appointed places. The deputy and Mr. Desboroughon their side commanded the better view. Then the jogies began theirwork at the back of the koond, hurling down fragments of rock andstones, striking and crashing among the trees, beating tomtoms andhowling with all their might. The terrific row they made was repeatedby the hollow echoes from the opposite side of the winding gorge, andwas enough to scare even bears and tigers from their sleep.

  The shouts redoubled. A tiny white flag, waving on the top of a longbamboo, fluttered above the tree-tops. It was the signal from thejogies on the heights. Something had been viewed. All the father's lifeseemed centring in his eye and ear. The cry of the jackals wasbeginning. The scream of the owls was echoed back from the templeruins, where the bats were wheeling in endless circles. Then up rosethe moon, flooding the temple hill with its silvery radiance, and givingan exaggerated profundity to the depths of the ravine. The pool, orjheel, below the overhanging rock shone like a burnished shield. In theopen ground between, which the beasts must cross as they were driven outof the koond, any object could be clearly seen. Then the scouts whowere posted in the trees by the sides, each with his matchlock, blazedaway with powder only, to prevent any of the beasts rushing up thesteep, and turn them back towards the watchers by the entrance. Therewas a crashing and heaving in the thick underwood. A tiger showed andhid again in the jow.

  Oliver's heart gave a great bound. Oh no, it was not fear! But he feltthe presence of danger, and his cheek grew pale with excitement. Not ashot was fired; not a sound escaped them. There must be nothing tointimidate the other inmates of the koond which might be following. Thedead silence was broken only by the tiger's grunting. Did it scent itsfoes in the trees around? It did what nothing but a tiger could everdo--sent its innocent young cub before it into the danger. What acontrast between the tiger and the wolf! But for once the unsuspectingyoung one did not fall a sacrifice to its mother's selfishness. It rantowards the water, crouching in the moonje grass which tigers love sowell. Another furious onslaught from the jogies, and the mother flashedpast like lightning, rearing up and roaring as it plunged into thejheel. The scouts came down from the trees and began to talk. Theywere half afraid the tiger was the only game that would show that night.Should they move on to the second koond to seek for the wolves? ThenTara Ghur bade all be still. His ear detected a movement in thedistance--a tremor among the leaves, which no one else would haveperceived. The scouts changed their places, flying back to the trees,and blazed away as before.

  They were near to that korinda bush, but they did not know it. Thetiger had started, and the patriarch of the wolves gave tongue from theother koond.

  Mr. Desborough turned away from the darkness of the koond to watch thegaunt, lean, savage forms that were gathering on the moonlit ground tofollow the track of the tiger. A movement in the tangle around escapedhim. But Tara Ghur was aware of it. Oliver saw him bend forward, andhis eye was quick to follow the hunter's. Tara knew that something wascoming along the track where he dug up the footprint.

  That footprint! The father was thinking of it. The trace was so slight,yet it was exactly like Horace's. His heart was sickening withsuspense. Were they on a wrong scent, after all? thought the major, whenout leaped the family from the korinda, with answering cries to theleader of the pack, who was rushing down the slope. The appalling howlsof his following, as they gathered from brake and bush, might havechilled the stoutest heart. No child was there. The tall grass bentand swayed about the tree; then a small white form bounded from themidst of it like a kangaroo, but the old gray wolf was beside it.

  Shouts from opposite sides of the ravine gave warning that something hadbeen sighted. The small white thing dropped in the towering grass. Agun was fired. It was Major Iffley's. The wolf had pounced upon hernursling. The gun was loaded with small shot for the purpose. Themajor fired along the ground. The wolf received the char
ge in hershoulder. They could see her clawing the earth as she felt the pain,and then dropped down as if she were dead in the tufted grass. Theycould hear the screams of the terrified child.

  "Carl! Carl!" Mr. Desborough called in coaxing tones of fatherlyendearment, which rose to command as he met with no reply. The scoutswere darting from point to point, as far as ground and jungle permitted.The three friends sprang down from the trees, only charging Oliver tostay were he was. They loaded their guns with ball, and advancedcautiously to within a yard or so of the giant grass tuft. Theystationed themselves at even distances, that whichever way the wolfleaped out they might be ready to shoot him sideways through the head,so that the ball should not enter the tuft of grass. Their first objectwas to rouse the wolf and make it show. They trusted that terror wouldprevent the child leaving the shelter in which it lay concealed.

  Tara Ghur had broken off a tall branch from the tree in which he hadremained, and creeping along one of its mighty arms, peered down intothe grass, but could see nothing. He stirred it up with the brokenbranch, but roused nothing except a screaming pea-hen.

  He leaped to the ground. "The wolf is gone!"

  "But the child--the child!" gasped Mr. Desborough, laying down his gunand forcing his way into the tangled mass. No child was there. Thewolf had doubled upon them so swiftly and so stealthily, it seemed as ifthe ground had opened to swallow it up. The scouts jumped down fromtheir trees, and all separated, taking different paths, to try and findwhich way the wolf had gone,--all but the old shikaree and Oliver, whowas still aloft. Mr. Desborough was foremost; he no longer waited forthe hunter's guidance. Yes, he had seen his child. He believed now itwas his fair-haired boy. He had seen him and lost him again. Thethought was madness. The major, gun in hand, kept close beside him.

  Tara Ghur, who seemed, like the owl, to possess the power of seeing inthe dark, was tracing the way the wolf had come, not the path by whichit had fled from them.

  Oliver, beginning to be afraid of being left behind in so wild a spot,climbed down again and followed the hunter, who was the last to leaveit. The sailor-boy had climbed so high into his tree, thinking to gaina more commanding view, that he had not seen all that was taking placeat its foot. Having first met Oliver in the company of the Rana's son,old Tara Ghur regarded him with something of the devotion and respect hefelt for his native chief. He knew the boy was safest by his side, andinvited him by gesture to follow. So the two crept on through thepathless wild no foot but theirs had ever penetrated.

  If Oliver had found it hard work forcing his way with Gobur through thegrass clump by the river, it was nothing to the task before him now.There were sudden drops into unseen nullahs, or watercourses, and adangerous climb in the darkness up the steep bank, facing rolling stonesfrom the jagged heights above. Now and again their only course was toclimb the trees, and swing themselves from bough to bough. But throughit all the hunter traced out the path of the wolf with an unerringdexterity that was perfectly marvellous to Oliver, tracking its courseto the sweeping boughs of the deserted korinda bush.

  The bones about the gray wolf's home were gnawed and dry. It wasevident the hungry mother had suppered her young family on snails andfield-mice; and she must have gone far afield for these, for thehunting-grounds about the hairy nest had been clearing fast of late.Old Tara tried to explain his purpose, but Oliver did not halfunderstand. He could only watch what the hunter was doing, and secondhis efforts whenever he could.

  "Child been here, sahib!" exclaimed Tara Ghur suddenly, after carefullygroping round and round the well-made lair.

  But their object was to capture, not to kill, and Oliver began to wondermore and more how this could ever be effected.

  The shikaree paused in perplexity. He had passed his life among thewildest fastnesses of the district. He had watched the ways of theliving creatures who lorded it there. He had studied the tastes,habits, and disposition of every creature in the forest. He was wellaware the wolves would draw to their lair with the return of day, andprepared to watch the night out by the korinda bush. Then a suddenthought seemed to strike him. He sprang up and began anew to examinethe ground around the path the wolf had chosen. A deep hole, the burrowof some wild animal, gave him intense satisfaction. He heaved aside thedecaying arm of a tree which had fallen across it. Oliver came to hishelp, and adding his strength to that of the wiry hunter, they dislodgedit altogether, and laid the burrow open.

  Oliver saw that it was a dangerous pitfall, and wondered what was to bedone with it.

  Tara leaped down and began to enlarge it with the hunting-knife hecarried in his belt. Then he tore off a huge piece of bark from aneighbouring tree, and pulled up a shrub by the roots. With thisimpromptu shovel and broom he set himself to clear out the loose earthand stones which had collected in the bottom of the hole.

  Oliver meanwhile was keeping guard over the shikaree's skin of meal andthe earthen pot, which on this particular occasion did not containwater. What it did contain he could not imagine, for the edge wassticky in the extreme. Before the moon began to wane the burrow wasenlarged to a good-sized pit. The shikaree grew exultant. He beckonedto Oliver to follow him, and the two wandered about among the treesuntil they found some giant leaves of a bauhinia creeper.

  They stripped the stem as far as they could reach, and returned withtheir load of leaves to the edge of the pit.

  The shikaree spread them on the ground before it. Then he smeared themover with the contents of his jar.

  "What is it?" thought Oliver--"bird lime?"

  Then he saw what the clever old man was about--making a wolf-trap.