While the camp was springing into existence out of the tangled woods, the jackal kept guard, circling at a distance, like a well-trained collie herding a flock of sheep.
The first night was a repetition of many others.

When the night came down, as it did long before darkness set in on the wide river, where the afterglow was reflected from the waters, it was black beyond thought, so black that a few yards from the fire the sharpest pair of eyes could not see a hand held a foot away.

And with the darkness came a sense of mystery, a hollow murmur as of the surf heard a long way off, which intensified the brooding stillness; and at times the groaning of the trees.
"What noise is that ?" asked Venning, hearing the sound.
"The trees talk," said Muata, gravely.
"Eh?
The trees talk! Wonderful!" muttered Compton, sarcastically; but, nevertheless, he listened with open mouth and staring eyes.
"What do they say, chief ?" "The young ones ask for room; they shove and push to reach up into the air, to feel the touch of the rain, to enjoy the warmth of the sun." "And the big trees ?" "They cry out against the young, who come thrusting their branches up from below, who crowd in upon the old people." "And the squeaking noise ?" "That is made by one branch rubbing against another.

Wow! It is nothing.

Hear them talk when a wind is blowing; then it is as if all the great ones were gathered together roaring to the four comers, with the voice of the storm booming from the skies, and the bellowing of a great herd of bulls, and in between the cries of women in fear and the screaming of tigers.