Binu Charley led the way, by proxy, however, for, by means of the poisoned spear, he drove the captive bushman ahead.  The run-way still ran through the dank and rotten jungle, and they knew no villages would be encountered till rising ground was gained.  They plodded on, panting and sweating in the humid, stagnant air.  They were immersed in a sea of wanton, prodigal vegetation.  All about them the huge-rooted trees blocked their footing, while coiled and knotted climbers, of the girth of a man’s arm, were thrown from lofty branch to lofty branch, or hung in tangled masses like so many monstrous snakes.  Lush-stalked plants, larger-leaved than the body of a man, exuded a sweaty moisture from all their surfaces.  Here and there, banyan trees, like rocky islands, shouldered aside the streaming riot of vegetation between their crowded columns, showing portals and passages wherein all daylight was lost and only midnight gloom remained.  Tree-ferns and mosses and a myriad other parasitic forms jostled with gay-coloured fungoid growths for room to live, and the very atmosphere itself seemed to afford clinging space to airy fairy creepers, light and delicate as gem-dust, tremulous with microscopic blooms.  Pale-golden and vermilion orchids flaunted their unhealthy blossoms in the golden, dripping sunshine that filtered through the matted roof.  It was the mysterious, evil forest, a charnel house of silence, wherein naught moved save strange tiny birds—­the strangeness of them making the mystery more profound, for they flitted on noiseless wings, emitting neither song nor chirp, and they were mottled with morbid colours, having all the seeming of orchids, flying blossoms of sickness and decay.

He was caught by surprise, fifteen feet in the air above the path, in the forks of a many-branched tree.  All saw him as he dropped like a shadow, naked as on his natal morn, landing springily on his bent knees, and like a shadow leaping along the run-way.  It was hard for them to realize that it was a man, for he seemed a weird jungle spirit, a goblin of the forest.  Only Binu Charley was not perturbed.  He flung his poisoned spear over the head of the captive at the flitting form.  It was a mighty cast, well intended, but the shadow, leaping, received the spear harmlessly between the legs, and, tripping upon it, was flung sprawling.  Before he could get away, Binu Charley was upon him, clutching him by his snow-white hair.  He was only a young man, and a dandy at that, his face blackened with charcoal, his hair whitened with wood-ashes, with the freshly severed tail of a wild pig thrust through his perforated nose, and two more thrust through his ears.  His only other ornament was a necklace of human finger-bones.  At sight of their other prisoner he chattered in a high querulous falsetto, with puckered brows and troubled, wild-animal eyes.  He was disposed of along the middle of the line, one of the Poonga-Poonga men leading him at the end of a length of bark-rope.