"Of course," said Compton, "and yawn!"
"How will a tree grow if it does not stretch? It bends this way and that, to loosen the bark, to make its body and its arms supple and tough, so that it can bend to the blast and yet spring back straight again. Tell me what would happen if the young tree were bark-bound. It would die—as these old ones die smothered by the creeping arms around them. Ow aye, they stretch in the morning and grow."
So they talked in the night, and listened to the strange sounds that came mysteriously out of the brooding silence.
CHAPTER XIII
THE TREE-LION
The next day they came to the end of the trail that Muata had followed with the river-man; but the scent was still on the ground, and for a mile or so the jackal led the way, slinking along like a shadow with his nose down and his bushy tail drooping. Then he stopped, and, after a look up into the face of his master, stretched himself out, as much as to say his part was over.
"They have gained on us," said Mr. Hume.
"They rose early and travelled fast," said Muata. "The scent is cold, but there is the trail marked on the tree;" and he pointed to a slight cut in the bark, from which had oozed a thick juice, now caked hard.
"Some one pierced the bark."
"It is the sign of the wise woman, and she made it, maybe, with a wire from her armlets."