It was fascinating to be borne along without effort through the enchanted wood in the luminous green gloom that filled it, lulled by the swaying motion of the elephant’s stride.  The soothing silence of the woodland was broken only by the crowing of a jungle cock.  The thick, leafy screen overhead excluded the glare of the tropic sunlight; and the heat was tempered to a welcome coolness by the dense shade.

But, despite the soporific motion of his huge charger, Dermot’s vigilant eye searched the apparently lifeless jungle as he was borne along.  Presently it was caught by a warm patch of colour, the bright chestnut hide of a deer; and he detected among the trees the graceful form of a sambhur hind.  Accustomed to seeing wild elephants the animal gazed without apprehension at Badshah and failed to mark the man on his neck.  But females of the deer tribe are sacred to the sportsman; and the hunter passed on.  Half a mile farther on, in the deepest shadow of the undergrowth, he saw something darker still.  It was the dull black hide of a sambhur stag, a fine beast fourteen hands high, with sharp brow antlers and thick horns branching into double points.  Knowing the value of motionlessness as a concealment the animal never moved; and only an eye trained to the jungle would have detected it.  Dermot noted it, but let it remain unscathed; for he knew well the exceeding toughness of its flesh.  What he sought was a kakur, or barking deer, a much smaller but infinitely more palatable beast.

Hours passed; and he and Badshah had wandered for miles without finding what he wanted.  He looked at his watch; for the sun was invisible.  It was nearly noon.  In a space free from undergrowth he halted the elephant and, patting the skull with his open hand, said: 

“Buth!”

Badshah at the word sank slowly down until he rested on his breast and belly with fore and hind legs stuck out stiffly along the ground.  Dermot slipped off his neck and stretched his cramped limbs; for sitting long upright on an elephant without any support to the back is tiring.  Then he reclined under a tree with his loaded rifle beside him—­for the peaceful-seeming forest has its dangers.  He made a frugal lunch off a packet of sandwiches from his haversack.

Eating made him thirsty.  He had forgotten to bring his water-bottle with him; and he knew that there was no stream to be met with in the jungle for many miles.  But he was aware that the forest could supply his wants.  Rising, he drew his kukri and looked around him.  Among the tangle of creepers festooned between the trees he detected the writhing coils of one with withered, cork-like bark, four-sided and about two inches in diameter.  He walked over to it and, grasping it in his left hand, cut it through with a blow of his heavy knife.  Its interior consisted of a white, moist pulp.  With another blow he severed a piece a couple of feet long.  Taking a metal cup from his haversack he cut the length of creeper into small pieces and held all their ends together over the little vessel.  From them water began to drip, the drops came faster and finally little streams from the pulpy interior filled the cup to the brim with a cool, clear, and palatable liquid.  The liana was the wonderful pani-bel, or water-creeper.