Then day after day there had been the trumpeting sounds of the elephants shuffling by the prison on their way to water, the regular visits of one of their number, Peter’s friend, to thrust in his trunk for a fresh supply of bread and fruit.
The dwarfish little Malay whose task it seemed to be to drive the great beasts to their morning bath, from which they returned muddied and dripping, had twice over, to the recovering lad’s knowledge, shouted at and tried to drive Peter’s friend from the stable door, but on the second occasion he had been so nearly caught by the huge beast that he was satisfied to leave him to his own devices, and Rajah, as Peter had christened him, came and went as he pleased.
Then, after the heat of the day had passed, the head keeper, as Peter called him, came with his followers to bring a fresh supply of their monotonous food and water; and it was he who, at irregular times, would come to change the sentry, peering through one of the holes to make sure that his prisoners were safe, and then going away as silently as he had come.
All this was discussed, as Archie grew stronger, again and again by the two prisoners, and they came to the conclusion that they must be deeply buried in an out-of-the-way part of the jungle from which it would be impossible for them to escape, and that that was the reason for so little attention being paid to their security.
“That’s it, Pete,” Archie had declared. “They know we can’t get away, or else there would be more regularity about our guard, and whoever is on sentry would not disappear as soon as it is dark.”
Peter’s answer repeated itself with additional force on this particular night of Archie’s watch, for the lad had said, “They know ’tain’t safe, sir. It’s my belief that if the sentry kept guard there one night, he would never do it again.”
“Poor Peter!” thought Archie as, refreshed by his draught of water, he began slowly to pace the rustling floor again. “In such a silent night as this,” he mused, “one’s thoughts ought to flow easily enough, and I was hopeful that when he came back I should have hit out some better plan for our escape; but ever since that horrible night all power of thinking seems to have gone. Sometimes I do get fancying that the power is coming back, but it is only for me to seem weaker again, and— Oh, I wish I had not let him go! I am too cowardly now to be left alone, and—”
R-a-a-a-ah!
Archie started into his old position, for once more, apparently from close at hand, came the deep-toned, savage, snarling roar of some huge tiger that had approached the big stable without a sound, and in imagination Archie could see its fiery, glaring eyes distended with a gaze that seemed to pierce the woven wall, as, with the soft white fur of its under parts brushing the earth, it gathered itself up ready to dash like some living catapult clean through the frail partition to his very feet.
“To impale itself, if I am lucky,” thought Archie. And then the silence continued for what seemed to be an hour, before, in the hope that the monster had once more stolen away as silently as it had come, the young man once again ventured to recommence the duties of his lonely, rustling beat. And now again he was attacked by his former horrible dread. The imaginary picture was in all its force. Poor Peter must have been followed by the tiger and dragged down helplessly to a horrible death; and, yes—for it was all too clear—this was indeed the reason why they were not guarded at night.