became aware of a tumult ahead of him, a smashing of leaves, a snorting and slobbering, grunting and sucking, a whole series of bestial sounds.  He halted for a little while, and then drew nearer, picking his steps to avoid too great a noise.  Here were more of those white-blossomed trees, and beneath, in the darkness, something very black and big was going to and fro, eating greedily.  Then he found that there were two and then more of these black things, three or four of them.

Curiosity made Benham draw nearer, very softly.

Presently one showed in a patch of moonlight, startlingly big, a huge, black hairy monster with a long white nose on a grotesque face, and he was stuffing armfuls of white blossom into his mouth with his curved fore claws.  He took not the slightest notice of the still man, who stood perhaps twenty yards away from him.  He was too blind and careless.  He snorted and smacked his slobbering lips, and plunged into the shadows again.  Benham heard him root among the leaves and grunt appreciatively.  The air was heavy with the reek of the crushed flowers.

For some time Benham remained listening to and peering at these preoccupied gluttons.  At last he shrugged his shoulders, and left them and went on his way.  For a long time he could hear them, then just as he was on the verge of forgetting them altogether, some dispute arose among them, and there began a vast uproar, squeals, protests, comments, one voice ridiculously replete and authoritative, ridiculously suggestive of a drunken judge with his mouth full, and a shrill voice of grievance high above the others. . . .

The uproar of the bears died away at last, almost abruptly, and left the jungle to the incessant night-jars. . . .

For what end was this life of the jungle?

All Benham’s senses were alert to the sounds and appearances about him, and at the same time his mind was busy with the perplexities of that riddle.  Was the jungle just an aimless pool of life that man must drain and clear away?  Or is it to have a use in the greater life of our race that now begins?  Will man value the jungle as he values the precipice, for the sake of his manhood?  Will he preserve it?

Man must keep hard, man must also keep fierce.  Will the jungle keep him fierce?

For life, thought Benham, there must be insecurity. . . .

He had missed the track. . . .

He was now in a second ravine.  He was going downward, walking on silvery sand amidst great boulders, and now there was a new sound in the air—.  It was the croaking of frogs.  Ahead was a solitary gleam.  He was approaching a jungle pool. . . .

Suddenly the stillness was alive, in a panic uproar.  “Honk!” cried a great voice, and “Honk!” There was a clatter of hoofs, a wild rush—­a rush as it seemed towards him.  Was he being charged?  He backed against a rock.  A great pale shape leaped by him, an antlered shape.  It was a herd of big deer bolting suddenly out of the stillness.  He heard the swish and smash of their retreat grow distant, disperse.  He remained standing with his back to the rock.