The sun went down and darkness settled on the forest.  The talk died away and no sound was heard but the soft padding of their elephant’s huge feet in the dust of the road.  The subaltern soon found the howdah infinitely more trying than a seat on the pad when Badshah was in motion; for the plunging gait of the animal jerked him backwards and forwards and threw him against the wooden rails if he forgot to hold himself at arm’s length from them.  The discomfort spoiled his appreciation of the strange, attractive experience of being borne by night through the sleepless forest, where in the dark hours only the bird and the monkey repose; and even to them the creeping menace of the climbing snake affrights the one and the wheeling shapes of the night-flying birds of prey scare the other.  But on the ground all are awake.  The glimmering whiteness of the road was occasionally blotted by the scurrying forms of animals, hunted and hunters, dashing across it.  Once a tiny shriek in the distance broke the silence of the jungle.

“A wild elephant,” said Colonel Dermot.

Then followed the loud crashing of rending boughs and falling trees.

“That’s a herd feeding.  They graze until about ten o’clock and then sleep on well into the small hours, wake and begin to feed again at dawn,” continued the Political Officer.

Once a wild, unearthly wailing cry that seemed to come from every direction at once startled the subaltern: 

“Good Heavens! what’s that?” he exclaimed, gripping his rifle and trying to pierce the darkness around them.

“Only a Giant Owl,” was the reply.  “It’s an uncanny noise.  There!”

Right over their heads it rang out again; and the stars above them were blotted out for a moment by a dark, circling shape above the tree-tops.

Hour after hour went by as they were borne along through the night; and Wargrave bruised and battered by the howdah-rails, fell constantly against them, so overcome with sleep was he.  At last to his relief his companion called a halt for a few hours’ rest; and they brought the elephant to his knees, dismounted and stripped him of howdah and pad.  Sitting on the latter they supped on sandwiches and coffee from Thermos flasks, and then stretched themselves to sleep, while Badshah standing over them grazed on the grasses and branches within reach.  Wargrave was dropping off to sleep when he was roused by the sharp, staccato bark of a khakur buck repeated several times.  The tired man lost consciousness and was sunk in profound slumber when the silence of the forest was shattered by a snorting, braying roar that rang through the jungle with alarming suddenness.

Wargrave sprang up and groped for his rifle.  But his companion lay tranquilly on the pad.

“It’s all right.  It’s only a tiger that’s missed his spring and is angry about it,” he said sleepily.  “Lie down again.”