"Hullo, Mac, it's time you turned in!" said Forrester, shaking him by the arm.
"Ay," said Mackenzie, sleepily. "Where's my pipe?"
"At your feet."
The Scotsman picked it up, stood erect, yawned, stretched himself, then suddenly dropped his hands to his sides.
"What's yon?" he said.
His companions sprang up. They, too, had heard a rustling in the jungle close at hand--a sound louder than the swish and scrape of the grass in the breeze. Sher Jang came up to them silently, and handed them their rifles. They heard the sound again, and stood in line, peering into the thicket up-stream, their fingers on the triggers.
The rustle ceased.
"Is it a tiger?" Forrester whispered in Hindustani to the shikari.
"No, sahib; tigers make no noise. It may be a bear."
"Or a native?" suggested Jackson.