g bamboo, followed by
Ajeet, Sookdee and Hunsa. Presently he stopped, saying, "Sit you in a
line, brave chiefs, facing the great temple of Siva, which is in the
mountains of the East, so that the voice of Bhowanee coming out of the
silent places and from the mouth of the jackal or the jackass, shall be
known to be from the right or the left, for thus will be the
interpretation."

The priest took his place in front of the jamadars, sitting with his
back to them, and placed upon the ground, first a white cloth of
cotton, and then the velvet bag, upon which rested a silver pickaxe.

When Ajeet saw the pickaxe he said angrily: "That is the emblem of
thugs; we be decoits, not stranglers, Guru."

"They are equal in honour with Bhowanee," the Guru replied: "they slay
for profit, even as you do, and among you are those who are thugs, for
I minister to both."

Then the Guru buried his shrivelled skull in his thin hands and drooped
forward in silent listening. Ajeet objected no more, and in the new
silence they could hear the shrill rasping of cicadae in the foliage of
a gigantic elephant-creeper, that, like a huge python, crawled its way
from branch to branch, sprawling across a dozen stately trees. From
somewhere beyond was a steady "tonk! tonk! tonk!"--like the beat of
wood against a hollow pipe--of the little green-plumaged coppersmith
bird. A honey-badger came timorously creeping, his feet shuffling the
fallen leaves, peered at the strange figures of the men, and, at the
move of an arm, fled scurrying through the stillness with the noise of
some great creature.

Suddenly the jungle was stilled, even from the voice of the rasping
cicadae; the leaves had ceased to whisper, for the wind had hushed.
The devotees could hear the beating of their hearts in the strain of
waiting for a manifestation from the dread goddess. The white-robed
figure of the Guru was like a shrivelled statue of alabaster where the
faint moon picked it out in blotches as the light filtered through
leaves above.

Sookdee gasped in terror as just above them a tiny tree owl called,
"Whoo-whoo, whoo-whoo!" as if he jeered. But Ajeet knew that that, in
their belief, was a sign of encouragement, meaning not overmuch, but
not an evil omen. From far off floated up on the dead night air the
belling note of a startled cheetal, and almost at once the harsh,
grating, angry roar of a leopard, as though he had struck for the
throat of the stag and missed.