om the trees, and underfoot along the ground, soaking through
the pine-needles, dripping from the tongues of draggled fern, and
spouting in newly-torn muddy channels down the slopes. Then the sun
came out, and drew forth the good incense of the deodars and the
rhododendrons, and that far-off, clean smell which the Hill people call
"the smell of the snows." The hot sunshine lasted for a week, and then
the rains gathered together for their last downpour, and the water fell
in sheets that flayed off the skin of the ground and leaped back in
mud. Purun Bhagat heaped his fire high that night, for he was sure his
brothers would need warmth; but never a beast came to the shrine, though
he called and called till he dropped asleep, wondering what had happened
in the woods.

It was in the black heart of the night, the rain drumming like a
thousand drums, that he was roused by a plucking at his blanket, and,
stretching out, felt the little hand of a langur. "It is better here
than in the trees," he said sleepily, loosening a fold of blanket; "take
it and be warm." The monkey caught his hand and pulled hard. "Is it
food, then?" said Purun Bhagat. "Wait awhile, and I will prepare some."
As he kneeled to throw fuel on the fire the langur ran to the door of
the shrine, crooned and ran back again, plucking at the man's knee.

"What is it? What is thy trouble, Brother?" said Purun Bhagat, for the
langur's eyes were full of things that he could not tell. "Unless one of
thy caste be in a trap--and none set traps here--I will not go into that
weather. Look, Brother, even the barasingh comes for shelter!"

The deer's antlers clashed as he strode into the shrine, clashed against
the grinning statue of Kali. He lowered them in Purun Bhagat's direction
and stamped uneasily, hissing through his half-shut nostrils.

"Hai! Hai! Hai!" said the Bhagat, snapping his fingers, "Is THIS payment
for a night's lodging?" But the deer pushed him toward the door, and as
he did so Purun Bhagat heard the sound of something opening with a sigh,
and saw two slabs of the floor draw away from each other, while the
sticky earth below smacked its lips.

"Now I see," said Purun Bhagat. "No blame to my brothers that they did
not sit by the fire to-night. The mountain is falling. And yet--why
should I go?" His eye fell on the empty begging-bowl, and his face
changed. "They have given me good food daily since--since I came, and,
if I am not swift, to-morrow there w