All Benham's senses were alert to the sounds and appearances about
him, and at the same time his mind was busy with the perplexities of
that riddle. Was the jungle just an aimless pool of life that man
must drain and clear away? Or is it to have a use in the greater
life of our race that now begins? Will man value the jungle as he
values the precipice, for the sake of his manhood? Will he preserve
it?

Man must keep hard, man must also keep fierce. Will the jungle keep
him fierce?

For life, thought Benham, there must be insecurity. . . .

He had missed the track. . . .

He was now in a second ravine. He was going downward, walking on
silvery sand amidst great boulders, and now there was a new sound in
the air--. It was the croaking of frogs. Ahead was a solitary
gleam. He was approaching a jungle pool. . . .

Suddenly the stillness was alive, in a panic uproar. "HONK!" cried
a great voice, and "HONK!" There was a clatter of hoofs, a wild
rush--a rush as it seemed towards him. Was he being charged? He
backed against a rock. A great pale shape leaped by him, an
antlered shape. It was a herd of big deer bolting suddenly out of
the stillness. He heard the swish and smash of their retreat grow
distant, disperse. He remained standing with his back to the rock.

Slowly the strophe and antistrophe of frogs and goat-suckers resumed