her sands bury them, like Egypt and the Sphinx. “All that sermon from one small tropical bird!” laughed Dwight to himself, carelessly, as his thoughts came back to earth again. “Nature may be irreconcilably hostile to us--but, where am I now, and how am I going to get out? That’s the real question for _this_ man!” He had no idea how or where his wanderings in pursuit of the paradise bird had taken him. All that was certain was that he had not crossed the creek again, and that he was somewhere east of it. He laid a course west with the compass, and set out, confident that he would sooner or later strike the stream. But Nature proceeded to show him how utterly insignificant to her is man. The first indication of it was a large plop of her tropical rain which fell on his helmet. Dwight looked up, surprised to see the sky overcast and the thunders of the daily afternoon tropical storm muttering in the mountains. He must have been several hours following this six-shafter! He hurried on back toward the creek, stumbling through the jungle and striving to stifle panicky impulses to run. It was essential to keep his head, and to pick out landmark trees, methodically, ahead on his course, for you cannot steer yourself like a ship with the compass in the jungle. He forced his attention upon this, ignoring the raindrops, the steady patter of which kept up in the tree tops. The wetted undergrowth soon soaked his thin khaki. He now bitterly regretted setting out without his pack. Just a moment to have shouldered it would have been enough, but he had been too eager, too afraid to lose sight of his precious prize. A distant roar of wind, and an angry cannonade of thunder came from the west, setting the jungle to rocking and tossing overhead, while birds flew wildly through the tree tops, croaking and screeching harshly. Dwight stopped and listened to it. He was trembling all over with the wet cold, and sharp chills were running through him. Now or never was the time for a signal, for no sound would carry far after the rain came. He raised his gun, fired both barrels, and listened with all his ears. No answer, save the roar of the rain, sounding louder and louder and coming nearer and nearer. He looked about for the largest tree near him and ran for it. The branches of wind-lashed forest were now parting overhead, and out of the dark gray came vivid flashes of lightning which filled the jungle with winking light. The long ropes of creepers which climbed up to the branches of his tree from the jungle floor swung solemnly in the wind, and Dwight crept under them and huddled close against the trunk, cowering in the buttresses of the great roots.