elter of the branches, while
the rain and river roared together.

The stumps of the indigo crackled, and there was a smell of cattle, as a
huge and dripping Brahminee bull shouldered his way under the tree. The
flashes revealed the trident mark of Shiva on his flank, the insolence
of head and hump, the luminous stag-like eyes, the brow crowned with a
wreath of sodden marigold blooms, and the silky dewlap that almost swept
the ground. There was a noise behind him of other beasts coming up
from the flood-line through the thicket, a sound of heavy feet and deep
breathing.

"Here be more beside ourselves," said Findlayson, his head against the
treepole, looking through half-shut eyes, wholly at ease.

"Truly," said Peroo, thickly, "and no small ones."

"What are they, then? I do not see clearly."

"The Gods. Who else? Look!"

"Ah, true! The Gods surely--the Gods." Findlayson smiled as his head
fell forward on his chest. Peroo was eminently right. After the Flood,
who should be alive in the land except the Gods that made it--the Gods
to whom his village prayed nightly--the Gods who were in all men's
mouths and about all men's ways. He could not raise his head or stir a
finger for the trance that held him, and Peroo was smiling vacantly at
the lightning.

The Bull paused by the shrine, his head lowered to the damp earth. A
green Parrot in the branches preened his wet wings and screamed against
the thunder as the circle under the tree filled with the shifting
shadows of beasts. There was a black Buck at the Bull's heels-such a
Buck as Findlayson in his far-away life upon earth might have seen in
dreams--a Buck with a royal head, ebon back, silver belly, and gleaming
straight horns. Beside him, her head bowed to the ground, the green eyes
burning under the heavy brows, with restless tail switching the dead
grass, paced a Tigress, full-bellied and deep-jowled.

The Bull crouched beside the shrine, and there leaped from the darkness
a monstrous grey Ape, who seated himself man-wise in the place of the
fallen image, and the rain spilled like jewels from the hair of his neck
and shoulders. Other shadows came and went behind the circle, among
them a drunken Man flourishing staff and drinking-bottle. Then a hoarse
bellow broke out from near the ground. "The flood lessens even now," it
cried. "Hour by hour the water falls, and their bridge still stands!"

"My bridge," said Findlayson to himself "That must be very old work no