while passing through
the dry forest; and time enough was allowed them to think and talk of
many things.

Now that they could no longer follow, scarce a word was exchanged
between them. Their emotions were too sad for utterance, otherwise than
by exclamations which spoke only of despair.

It was well they were silent, for it gave Saloo the opportunity of
listening. Ever since the ape had passed from their sight, his ear had
been keenly anxious to catch every sound, as he still entertained a hope
of being able to trace its passage through the trees.

Thoroughly conversant with the animal's habits, he knew that it must
have an abiding-place--a nest. This might be near at hand. The
proximity of the lagoon almost convinced him that it was so.

The mias makes a temporary roost for his repose anywhere it may be
wandering--constructing it in a few moments, by breaking off the
branches and laying them crosswise on a forked limb; but Saloo was aware
that, for its permanent residence, it builds a much more elaborate nest,
and this, too, always over water or marshy ground, where its human enemy
cannot conveniently follow it.

Moreover, it chooses for the site of its dwelling a low tree or bush
with umbrageous boughs, and never retires among the taller trees of the
forest.

This it does to avoid exposure to the chill winds, and the inconvenience
of being shaken to and fro during storms or typhoons.

With all this knowledge in his memory, the Malay had conceived a hope
that the monster's nest might not be far off, and they would still be
able to follow and find it--not to rescue the living child, but recover
her dead body.

Keenly and attentively he listened to every sound that came back through
the water-forest--cautioning the others to be silent. A caution scarce
needed, for they too stood listening, still as death, with hushed
voices, and hearts only heard in their dull sad beatings.

But for a short time were they thus occupied; altogether not more than
five minutes. They still detected the crackling of branches which
indicated the passage of the ape through the tree-tops.

All at once these sounds suddenly ceased, or rather were they drowned
out by sounds louder and of a very different intonation. It was a
chorus of cries, in which barking, grunting, growling, coughing,
cachinnation and the squalling of children seemed all to have a share.
There were evidently more than one individual contributing to this
st