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And then came another cry from far away
over the heat-stripped tree-tops, a less familiar cry. It was
repeated. Was that perhaps some craving leopard, a tiger cat, a
panther?--
"HUNT, HUNT"; that might be a deer.
Then suddenly an angry chattering came from the dark trees quite
close at hand. A monkey? . . .
These great, scarce visible, sweeping movements through the air were
bats. . . .
Of course, the day jungle is the jungle asleep. This was its waking
hour. Now the deer were arising from their forms, the bears
creeping out of their dens amidst the rocks and blundering down the
gullies, the tigers and panthers and jungle cats stalking
noiselessly from their lairs in the grass. Countless creatures that
had hidden from the heat and pitiless exposure of the day stood now
awake and alertly intent upon their purposes, grazed or sought
water, flitting delicately through the moonlight and shadows. The
jungle was awakening. Again Benham heard that sound like the
belling of a stag. . . .
This was the real life of the jungle, this night life, into which
man did not go.


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