Bevis Part 10

"Yes, I see," said Mark.

"And mind nothing comes behind that woodbine," pointing to a ma.s.s of woodbine which hung from some ash-poles, and stretched like a curtain across the view there. "That's a very likely place for a tiger: and keep your eye sharp on those nut-tree bushes across the brook--most likely you'll see the barrel of a matchlock pushed through there."

"I ought to have a matchlock," said Mark.

"So you did; but we had to start with what we had, and it is all the more glory to us if we _get_ through. Now mind you keep awake."

"Yes," said Mark.

Bevis, having given his orders, settled himself very comfortably on the moss at the foot of the oak, tilted his hat aside to shelter him still more, and, with a spray of ash in his hand to ward off the flies, began to forget. In a minute up he started.

"Mark!"

"Yes;" still sulky.

"There's another oak--no, it's a banyan up farther; behind you."

"I know."

"Well, if you hear any rustle there, it's a python."

"Very well."

"And those dead leaves and sticks in the hole there by the stump of that old tree?"

"I see."

"There's a cobra there."

"All right."

"And if a shadow comes over suddenly."

"What's that, then?" said Mark.

"That's the roc from Sinbad's Island."

"I say, Bevis," as Bevis settled himself down again. "Bevis, don't go to sleep."

"Pooh!"

"But it's not nice."

"Rubbish."

"Bevis."

"Don't talk silly."

In a minute Bevis was fast asleep. He always slept quickly, and the heat and the exertion made him forget himself still quicker.

Volume One, Chapter VII.

THE JUNGLE.

Mark was alone. He felt without going nearer that Bevis was asleep, and dared not wake him lest he should be called a coward. He moved a little way so as to have the oak more at his back, and to get a clearer view on all sides. Then he looked up at the sky, and whistled very low. Pan, who was half asleep too, got up slowly, and came to him; but finding that there was nothing to eat, and disliking to be stroked and patted on such a hot day, he went back to his old place, the barest spot he could find, mere dry ground.

Mark sat, bow and arrow ready in his hand, the arrow on the string, with the spear beside him, and his pocket-knife with the big blade open, and looked into the jungle. It was still and silent. The chafer had got loose, and there was nothing but the hum overhead. He kept the strictest watch, scarce allowing himself to blink his eyes. Now he looked steadily into the brushwood he could see some distance, his glance found a way through between the boughs, till presently, after he had searched out those crevices, he could command a circle of view.

Like so many slender webs his lines of sight thus drawn through mere c.h.i.n.ks of foliage radiated from a central spot, and at the end of each he seemed as if he could feel if anything moved as much as he could see it. Each of these webs strained at his weary mind, and even in the shade the strong glare of the summer noon pressed heavily on his eyelids. Had anything moved, a bird or moth, or had the leaves rustled, it would have relieved him. This expectation was a continual effort.

His eyes closed, he opened them, frowned and blinked; then he reclined on one arm as an easier position. His eyes closed, the shrill midsummer hum sounded low and distant, then loud, suddenly it ceased--he was asleep.

The sunburnt woodbine, the oaks dotted with coppery leaves where the second shoot appeared, the ash-poles rising from the hollow stoles, and whose pale sprays touching above formed a green surface, hazel with white nuts, stiff, ragged thistles on the stream bank, burrs with brown-tipped hooks, the hard dry ground, all silent, fixed, held in the light.

The sun slipped through the sky like a yacht under the sh.o.r.e where the light wind coming over a bank just fills the sails, but leaves the surface smooth. Through the smooth blue the sun slipped silently, and no white fleck of foam cloud marked his speed. But in the deep narrow channel of the streamlet there was a change--the tiny trickle of water was no longer illumined by the vertical beams, a slight slant left it to run in shadow.

Burr! came a humble-bee whose drone was now put out as he went down among the gra.s.s and leaves, now rose again as he travelled. Burr! The faintest breath of air moved without rustling the topmost leaves of the oaks. The humble-bee went on, and disappeared behind the stoles.

A little flicker of movement happened among the woodbine, not to be seen of itself, but as a something interrupting the light like a larger mote crossing the beam. The leaves of the woodbine in one place were drawn together and coated with a white web and a tiny bird came to take away the destroyer. Then mounting to a branch of ash he sang, "Sip, sip-- chip, chip!"

Again the upper leaves of the oak moved and jostling together caused a slight sound. Coo! coo! there was a dove beyond the hazel bushes across the stream. The shadow was more aslant and rose up the stalks of the rushes in the channel. Over the green surface of the ash sprays above, the breeze drew and rippled it like water. A jay came into the farther oak and scolded a distant mate.

Presently Pan awoke, nabbed another flea, looked round and shook his ears, from which some of the hair was worn by continual rubbing against the bushes under which he had crept for so many years. He felt thirsty, and remembering the stream, went towards it, pa.s.sing very lightly by Bevis, so closely as to almost brush his hat. The slight pad, pad of his paws on the moss and earth conveyed a sense of something moving near him to Bevis' mind. Bevis instantly sat up, so quickly, that the spaniel, half alarmed, ran some yards.

Directly Bevis sat up he saw that Mark had fallen asleep. He thought for a moment, and then took a piece of string from his pocket. Stepping quietly up to Mark he made a slip-knot in the string, lifted Mark's arm and put his hand through the loop above the wrist, then he jerked it tight. Mark scrambled up in terror--it might have been the python:--

"O! I say!"

Before he could finish, Bevis had dragged him two or three steps towards an ash-pole, when Mark, thoroughly awake, jerked his arm free, though the string hung to it.

"How dare you?" said Bevis, s.n.a.t.c.hing at the string, but Mark pushed him back. "How dare you? you're a prisoner."

"I'm not," said Mark very angrily.

"Yes, you are; you were asleep."

"I don't care."

"I will tie you up."

"You shan't."

"If you sleep at your post, you have to be tied to a tree, you know you have, and be left there to starve."

"I won't."

"You must, or till the tigers have you. Do you hear? stand still!"