Meanwhile the months slipped by, the south-east trade blew itself out, the monsoon¹ had begun to breathe, and Jerry added to himself six months of time, weight, stature², and thickness of bone.  An easy time his half-year with the blind man had been, despite the fact that Nalasu was a rigid³ disciplinarian who insisted on training Jerry for longer hours, day in and day out, than falls to the lot of most dogs.  Never did Jerry receive from him a blow, never a harsh word.  This man, who had slain⁴ four of the Annos, three of them after he had gone blind, who had slain still more men in his savage⁵ youth, never raised his voice in anger to Jerry and ruled him by nothing severer than the gentlest of chidings.  
Mentally, the persistent⁶ education Jerry received, in this period of late puppyhood, fixed⁷ in him increased brain power for all his life.  Possibly no dog in all the world had ever been so vocal⁸ as he, and for three reasons: his own intelligence, the genius for teaching that was Nalasu’s, and the long hours devoted⁹ to the teaching.
 
His shorthand vocabulary, for a dog, was prodigious¹⁰.  Almost might it be said that he and the man could talk by the hour, although few and simple were the abstractions they could talk; very little of the immediate¹¹ concrete past, and scarcely anything of the immediate concrete future, entered into their conversations.  Jerry could no more tell him of Meringe, nor of the Arangi, than could he tell him of the great love he had borne Skipper, or of his reason for hating Bashti.  By the same token, Nalasu could not tell Jerry of the blood-feud with the Annos, nor of how he had lost his eyesight.
 
Practically all their conversation was confined to the instant present, although they could compass a little of the very immediate past.  Nalasu would give Jerry a series of instructions, such as, going on a scout¹² by himself, to go to the nest, then circle about it widely, to continue to the other clearing where were the fruit trees, to cross the jungle to the main path, to proceed down the main path toward the village till he came to the great banyan¹³ tree, and then to return along the small path to Nalasu and Nalasu’s house.  All of which Jerry would carry out to the letter, and, arrived back, would make report.  As, thus: at the nest nothing unusual save that a buzzard was near it; in the other clearing three coconuts¹⁵ had fallen to the ground—for Jerry could count unerringly up to five; between the other clearing and the main path were four pigs; along the main path he had passed a dog, more than five women, and two children; and on the small path home he had noted¹⁶ a cockatoo and two boys.
 
But he could not tell Nalasu his states of mind and heart that prevented him from being fully¹⁷ contented¹⁸ in his present situation.  For Nalasu was not a white-god, but only a mere¹⁹ nigger god.  And Jerry hated and despised all niggers save for the two exceptions of Lamai and Nalasu.  He tolerated them, and, for Nalasu, had even developed a placid²⁰ and sweet affection.  Love him he did not and could not.
 
At the best, they were only second-rate gods, and he could not forget the great white-gods such as Skipper and Mister Haggin, and, of the same breed, Derby and Bob.  They were something else, something other, something better than all this black savagery²¹ in which he lived.  They were above and beyond, in an unattainable paradise which he vividly²² remembered, for which he yearned²³, but to which he did not know the way, and which, dimly sensing the ending that comes to all things, might have passed into the ultimate nothingness which had already overtaken Skipper and the Arangi.
 
In vain did the old man play to gain Jerry’s heart of love.  He could not bid against Jerry’s many reservations and memories, although he did win absolute faithfulness and loyalty²⁴.  Not passionately²⁵, as he would have fought to the death for Skipper, but devotedly²⁶ would he have fought to the death for Nalasu.  And the old man never dreamed but what he had won all of Jerry’s heart.
 
* * * * *
 
Came the day of the Annos, when one of them made the invention, which was thick-plaited sandals to armour²⁷ the soles of their feet against the poisoned thorns with which Nalasu had taken three of their lives.  The day, in truth, was the night, a black night, a night so black under a cloud-palled sky that a tree-trunk could not be seen an eighth of an inch beyond one’s nose.  And the Annos descended²⁸ on Nalasu’s clearing, a dozen of them, armed with Sniders, horse pistols, tomahawks and war clubs, walking gingerly, despite their thick sandals, because of fear of the thorns which Nalasu no longer planted.
 
Jerry, sitting between Nalasu’s knees and nodding sleepily, gave the first warning to Nalasu, who sat outside his door, wide-eyed, ear-strung, as he had sat through all the nights of the many years.  He listened still more tensely through long minutes in which he heard nothing, at the same time whispering to Jerry for information and commanding him to be soft-spoken; and Jerry, with whuffs and whiffs and all the short-hand breath-exhalations of speech he had been taught, told him that men approached, many men, more men than five.
 
Nalasu reached the bow beside him, strung an arrow, and waited.  At last his own ears caught the slightest of rustlings, now here, now there, advancing upon him in the circle of the compass.  Still speaking for softness, he demanded verification from Jerry, whose neck hair rose bristling²⁹ under Nalasu’s sensitive fingers, and who, by this time, was reading the night air with his nose as well as his ears.  And Jerry, as softly as Nalasu, informed him again that it was men, many men, more men than five.
 
With the patience of age Nalasu sat on without movement, until, close at hand, on the very edge of the jungle, sixty feet away, he located a particular noise of a particular man.  He stretched his bow, loosed the arrow, and was rewarded by a gasp³⁰ and a groan³¹ strangely commingled³².  First he restrained Jerry from retrieving³³ the arrow, which he knew had gone home; and next he fitted a fresh arrow to the bow string.
 
Fifteen minutes of silence passed, the blind man as if carven of stone, the dog, trembling with eagerness under the articulate touch of his fingers, obeying the bidding to make no sound.  For Jerry, as well as Nalasu, knew that death rustled³⁴ and lurked³⁵ in the encircling dark.  Again came a softness of movement, nearer than before; but the sped arrow missed.  They ............