Daurillac slipped his arm through Scott's, and
drew him after their slow-going _hombres_. At the bend of the path
they turned and waved to me--Scott with a quick lift of the hand. But
little Daurillac swept off his hat and stood half turned for a minute;
the sun splashed on his dark head, on his Frenchified belt and
puttees, on his white breeches, and on an outrageous pink shirt Henkel
seemed to have supplied him with. He looked suddenly brilliant and
unsubstantial, a light figure poised on the edge of the dark.... One
gets curious notions in Herares. The next moment they were gone. The
jungle had shut down on them, swallowed them up. They were instantly
lost in it as a bubble is lost in the sea.
"Two days before I hadn't known of their existence. But I was there to
see them off, and I was there when Scott came back.
"It was well on into the rainy season, and I was down with fever. I
was in my house, in my hammock, and the wind was swinging it. It was
probably the hammock that did all the swinging, but I thought it was
the house, and I had one foot on the floor to try and steady it. But
it was no use. The walls lifted and sank all in one rush, like the
sides of a ship at sea. Outside I could see a pink roof, a white roof,
a tin roof, and then the forest, with the opening of a path like the
black mouth of a tunnel. I wanted to watch this tunnel, because I had
an idea I'd seen something crawl along it a good while before. But
I couldn't manage it; I had to shut my eyes.
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