The captain and his companions had easily kept pace with the pursued, while passing through the dry forest; and time enough was allowed them to think and talk of many things.
Now that they could no longer follow, scarce a word was exchanged between them.

Their emotions were too sad for utterance, otherwise than by exclamations which spoke only of despair.
It was well they were silent, for it gave Saloo the opportunity of listening.

Ever since the ape had passed from their sight, his ear had been keenly anxious to catch every sound, as he still entertained a hope of being able to trace its passage through the trees.
Thoroughly conversant with the animal's habits, he knew that it must have an abiding-place--a nest.

This might be near at hand.

The proximity of the lagoon almost convinced him that it was so.
The mias makes a temporary roost for his repose anywhere it may be wandering--constructing it in a few moments, by breaking off the branches and laying them crosswise on a forked limb; but Saloo was aware that, for its permanent residence, it builds a much more elaborate nest, and this, too, always over water or marshy ground, where its human enemy cannot conveniently follow it.
Moreover, it chooses for the site of its dwelling a low tree or bush with umbrageous boughs, and never retires among the taller trees of the forest.
This it does to avoid exposure to the chill winds, and the inconvenience of being shaken to and fro during storms or typhoons.
With all this knowledge in his memory, the Malay had conceived a hope that the monster's nest might not be far off, and they would still be able to follow and find it--not to rescue the living child, but recover her dead body.
Keenly and attentively he listened to every sound that came back through the water-forest--cautioning the others to be silent.