And it was dark: so black that the occupants of the howdahs could not see each other when close together, and the only way to avoid the boughs which brushed against them constantly was to crouch as low down as was possible.
Ned had been sitting silently for some time thinking all kinds of horrors, and of how huge serpents might be hanging from the boughs, or tigers watching them in the darkness, ready to spring in among them, when suddenly he started, for there was a low guttural sound like a suppressed roar close at hand, and directly after, a cold chill ran through him, for as the elephant went on with its slow swaying motion, something which seemed to be long and round glided past his face, passed over his shoulder, and then swept about his neck.
The scene up the river came back instantaneously, and in those moments Ned mentally saw a creature like that at which his uncle had shot, hanging from somewhere above, and seeking to coil round his body to crush him in its folds.
It was all momentary, but in that brief space of time Ned sat motionless, and then his breath escaped with a low hiss, as he felt that it was Frank’s arm feeling for him, and directly after the boy’s lips touched his ear.
“Ned,” he whispered, “here’s a game. Oh Tim’s asleep and snoring.”
“Well, I don’t see any game in that. I wish I was.”
“Don’t be snaggy. I mean to have a bit of fun with him.”
“What could you do?”
“You know how he has been fidgeting about the tigers.”
“Yes.”