Thus urged, both started to work. But neither ventured into the thicker clumps. When they returned, with large armfuls of sticks and twigs, they found that Blake had used his glass to light a handful of dry bark, out in the sun, and was nursing it into a small fire at the base of the tree, on the side next the cliff.
“Now, Miss Jenny,” he directed, “you’re to keep this going–not too big a fire–understand? Same time you can keep on fetching brush to fumigate your cat hole. It needs it, all right.”
“Will not that be rather too much for Miss Leslie?” asked Winthrope.
“Well, if she’d rather come and rub brains on the skins,–Indian tan, you know,–or–”
“How can you mention such things before a lady?” protested Winthrope.
“Beg your pardon, Miss Leslie! you see, I’m not much used to ladies’ company. Anyway, you’ve got to see and hear about these things. And now I’ll have to get the strings for Win’s bamboo bows. Come on, Win. We’ve got that old tabby to peel, and a lot more besides.”
Miss Leslie’s first impulse was to protest against being left alone, when at any moment some awful venomous serpent might come darting at her out of the brush or the crevices in the rocks. But her half-parted lips drew firmly together, and after a moment’s hesitancy, she forced herself to the task which had been assigned her. The fire, once started, required little attention. She could give most of her time to gathering brush for the fumigation of the leopard den.
She had collected quite a heap of fuel at the entrance of the hollow, when she remembered that the place would first have to be cleared of its accumulation of bones. A glance at her companions showed that they were in the midst of tasks even more revolting. It was certainly disagreeable to do such things; yet, as Mr. Blake had said, others had to do them. It was now her time to learn. She could see him smile at her hesitation.
Stung by the thought of his half contemptuous pity, she caught up a forked stick, and forced herself to enter the tree-cave. The stench met her like a blow. It nauseated and all but overpowered her. She stood for several moments in the centre of the cavity, sick and faint. Had it been even the previous day, she would have run out into the open air.
Presently she grew a little more accustomed to the stench, and began to rake over the soft dry mould of the den floor with her forked stick. Bones!–who had ever dreamed of such a mess of bones?–big bones and little bones and skulls; old bones, dry and almost buried; mouldy bones; bones still half-covered with bits of flesh and gristle–the remnants of the leopard family’s last meal.