The wisdom of starting this process at once, even before his tools were made, was immediately apparent. Back to his clay heap he hastened eagerly, and, pawing it over to form a hollow pyramid, he poured in the water to soak through the mass, and so make it soft enough to use. A new, unsparing spasm of labor seized the man in that hour, and he worked unremittingly. He felt he had loafed away his time which important requirements demanded. The task of digging the clay from the pit and fetching it up to his hollow tree in the basket, made of creepers, was interminable. The sticks and wooden "spades" he had managed to fashion, not only broke from over-use and straining, but they were dull and heavy and awkward. The basket was scarcely more convenient than the implements in fulfilling its simple function. He could manage to carry its weight upon his head, but at this he had meager skill. For three days he worked to get the clay, or to work it up and apply it with his hands. A considerable portion of the fallen log was thus quite promptly covered. He had then to wait for the clay to dry before his fire could be ignited. The supply of clay he had managed to amass was clearly insufficient. He paused, on one of those warm and breathless afternoons, to set a number of traps in the animal pathways, and construct an awning for Elaine. This was merely a structure before her cave, to support a roof of leaves and grasses. It afforded a shade, however, that was exceedingly grateful. There were numerous interruptions, also, for procuring meat and fruits. Grenville had brought down a pheasant with the last of his two remaining arrows. And not even a quill, supplied by the wings, had blown away from his "store." He had cut new shafts by his evening fire, and tipped them with points of sharpened wood. Elaine had feathered them skillfully, after once being properly directed. Not a sign, all this time, had Grenville seen of the tiger, still haunting the jungle. He had been too industriously engrossed, either to wonder or to care where the brute had recently been lurking. On the fourth warm morning of his toil about the furnace, the reminder came home with a jolt. Some few yards away from the clay pit's edge lay the master murderer's kill. It was part of a freshly eaten boar. Grenville was neither revolted nor angered by the sight. He was suddenly excited with a new hope of getting a certain robe to lay at the feet of Elaine. It never occurred to his eager mind that the brute who bore it might be lying near, in a mood to resent his intrusion here, where the kingly banquet had been left for a sitting again that night. His first concern was to keep away, as far as possible, lest the smell of his boots offend the lordly brute when he finally returned. Meantime such preparations as the scene made possible must not be unduly delayed.