issed. But the more he struggled,
the tighter drew the cord round his neck. Everywhere, faint and
trembling, rose the strange and dreadful unknown smell. He hung quite
still. And as he dangled in pain, a night-wandering Bittock on a branch
above him called piteously: "Oo-ee, oo-ee, oo-ee!"

"Why do you mock me, my friend?" groaned Nod.

"Oo-ee, oo-ee, oo-ee!" wailed the Bittock, and hopping down slowly,
perched herself before his face. Her black eye gleamed. She clapped her
tiny wings above her head, and softly let them fold. "Oo-ee, oo-ee,
oo-ee!" she cried again.

Nod stared in a rage: "Oo-ee, oo-ee!" he mocked her feebly. "Who's
caught me in this trap? Why do you come mocking me, swinging here to
die? Put out my eyes, Bird of Sorrow. Nod's tired of being Nod."

The little bird seemed to listen, with rusty poll poked forward. She
puffed out her feathers, raised her pointed bill, and piercingly into
the shadows rang out her trembling voice again. "Oo-ee, oo-ee, oo-ee!"
she sang, spread her wings, and left Nod quite alone.

His thong twitched softly. He shut his eyes. And once again, borne on
the faint cold wind, that smell came sluggishly to his nostrils. His
fears boiled up. His hair grew wet on his head. And suddenly he heard a
distant footfall. Nearer and nearer--not panther's, nor Gunga's, nor
Ephelanto's. And then some ancient voice whispered in his memory:
"Oomgar, Oomgar!" Man!

[Illustration]

CHAPTER IX

There was only the last of day in the forest. But Nod, dangling in
terror, could clearly see the Oomgar peering at him from beneath the
unstirring branches--his colourless skin, his long yellow hair, his
musket, his fixed, glittering eyes. And there came suddenly a voice out
of the Oomgar, like none the little Mulgar had ever heard in his life
before. Nod screamed and gnashed and kicked. But it was in vain. It only
noosed him tighter.

"So, so, then; softly, now, softly!" said the strange clear voice. The
Oomgar caught up the slack end of the noose and wound it deftly around
him, binding him hand and foot together. Then he took a long steel knife
from his breeches pocket, cut the cord round Nod's neck, and let him
drop heavily to the ground. "_Poor_ little Pongo! poor leetle Pongo!" he
said craftily, and cautiously stooped to pick him up.

Nod could not see for rage and fear. He drew back his head, and with
all his strength fixed his teeth in that white terrible thumb. The
Oomgar sucked in