t asking anyone.
There is no chance of working for the native people here. They are too
many, and too poor."

"You do not talk like an American--"

"I do not like to talk."

The white man was puzzled by Skag's careful and exact statements and
remarked presently:

"An American asking for work would say that he knew about everything,
instead of just animals in captivity."

"I have not asked for work before. I can do without it. I like it
here near the forests."

"You mean the jungles--"

"I thought jungles were wet."

"In the wet season."

"Thank you--"

The slim one suddenly laughed aloud though not off-key:

"But I haven't any wild animals in captivity for you--"

Skag did not mind the mirth. He appreciated the smell of the house.
It was like a hot earthen tea-pot that had been well-used.

"I will come again?" he asked tentatively.

"Just do that--at the rest-house. I drop in there after dinner--about
nine."

That afternoon Skag went into the edge of the jungle. It was a breath
of promised land to him. He was almost frightened with the joy of
it--the deep leaf-etched shadows, the separate, almost reverent
bird-notes; all spaciousness and age and dignity; leaves strange, dry
paths, scents new to his nostrils, but having to do with joys and fears
and restlessness his brain didn't know. Skag was glad deep. He took
off his boots and then strode in deeper and deeper past the maze of
paths. He stayed there until the yellow light was out of the sky. At
the clearing again, he laughed--looked down at the turf and laughed.
He had come out to the paths again at the exact point of his entry.
This was his first deep breath of the jungle--something his soul had
been waiting for.

At dinner in the village, Skag inquired about the white man. The
native was serving him a curry with drift-white rice on plantain
leaves. After that there was a sweetmeat made of curds of cream and
honey, with the flavour and perfume of some altogether delectable
flower. In good time the native replied that the white man's name was
Cadman: that he was an American traveller and writer and artist, said
to be almost illustrious; that he had been out recently with a party of
English sportsmen, but found tiger-hunting dull after his many wars and
adventures. Also, it was said, that Cadman Sahib had the
coldest-blooded courage a man ever took into the jungle, almost like a
_bhakti yogin_ who had altogether conquered fear. Ska