There was a black Buck at the Bull's
heels - such a Buck as Findlayson in his far-away life upon earth
might have seen in dreams - a Buck with a royal head, ebon back,
silver belly, and gleaming straight horns. Beside him, her head
bowed to the ground, the green eyes burning under the heavy brows,
with restless tail switching the dead grass, paced a Tigress,
full-bellied and deep-jowled.
The Bull crouched beside the shrine, and there leaped from the
darkness a monstrous grey Ape, who seated himself man-wise in the
place of the fallen image, and the rain spilled like jewels from
the hair of his neck and shoulders.
Other shadows came and went behind the circle, among them a drunken
Man flourishing staff and drinking-bottle. Then a hoarse bellow
broke out from near the ground. "The flood lessens even now," it
cried. "Hour by hour the water falls, and their bridge still
stands!"
"My bridge," said Findlayson to himself. "That must be very old
work now. What have the Gods to do with my bridge?"
His eyes rolled in the darkness following the roar. A Mugger - the
blunt-nosed, ford-haunting Mugger of the Ganges - draggled herself
before the beasts, lashing furiously to right and left with her tail.
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