“Oh, wait a few minutes and you’ll soon see that.—Won’t he, Tim?”
“That he will, sor, and here we are.”
For they had left the village behind, crossed the rice and fruit grounds, and there, all at once, without any preparation in the way of bushes or outstanding trees, was the jungle, with its huge growth rising up like a green wall shutting in some strange territory. It was even more formidable looking than the walls that shut in the river, and as Ned looked to right and left in search of the entrance to the way they were to take, he quite realised how dangerous it was for the poor folk who worked in their rice-fields close up to the black jungle and its lurking creatures.
“There you are,” said Frank. “Now then, you must keep your eyes open for snakes and your ears for tigers. Your uncle will shoot if he gets a chance; won’t he?”
“I don’t know,” replied Ned. “I don’t think he is well, he has been so quiet lately; but I should hardly believe he would let anything go by.”
“Nor I. He’s such a shot,” said Frank. “My father is pretty good, but Mr Murray is twice as sure. But we shall see no tigers going through a wood like this. The worst of it is, they can see you.”
For as he was speaking, the first elephant had gone, as it were, straight into the solid green wall of verdure, and disappeared.
“Now then, Trousers,” cried Frank.
“What do you call the mahout Trousers for?” asked Ned.
“I didn’t. I was speaking to old India-rubber here.”