The Colonel peered into the gloom of the rainforest, furrowing his brow with the effort. "Tell me," he asked his companion, Captain Motson, "have you ever taken part in one of these affairs before?"

Motson shook his head, dislodging a bead of warm sweat and starting it on the long trail down the bridge of his nose. "No sir. Well, I've hunted game - ."

"But never a man-eater, what?" The Colonel took a step forward, keeping his silhouette close to the undergrowth. "Totally different biznai, this. Very dangerous if you're not prepared."

"I've gone after dangerous animals before." There was a hint of defensiveness in Motson's voice. Yes - the Colonel might have been older than him by twenty-five years; but - dash it! - he was no tenderfoot himself. "Hippo. Buffalo. You daren't let your guard down when you're tracking those."

"No doubt," the Colonel replied. He cocked his head to one side and listened. From somewhere up ahead, crawling through the sticky humidity, came the sounds of the beaters making their way through the trees. Their noises were muffled by the dense, lush vegetation. "But this ... . This is a very cunning creature we're after."

"So I've been told." The younger officer gripped his rifle tighter, feeling the comfort of its mass in his hands. Still, the feeling was not enough to quell his growing nervousness. "But, really. How dangerous can it be? Only the old and feeble turn man-eater."

The Colonel chuckled. "Old it may be, but that only makes it more cunning. And if you think it being feeble will make matters easier for you, I'm afraid you're sadly mistaken. It will still be strong enough to break your spine or disembowel you with one slash." He gestured at the trees that surrounded them. "And we are on its turf, so to speak. Home advantage, what?"

A sudden crack broke through the afternoon heat, and a startled bird leapt skyward. Both men swivelled as one, turning the muzzles of their guns to where the nose had come from. Was there something moving in the darkness under the forest canopy? Was it just the shadows of the leaves or was it something else?

"Can't we shut them up?" Motson whispered, all bravado gone now. "I can't hear anything because of those blasted drums."

"Do you want to go and tell them? I don't. No. we'll keep together, what?" The Colonel's body relaxed, and he lowered his rifle. "Come on, there's a good chap. We'll find our boy soon, never fear. Then it'll be tiffin and boasting about it in the mess, what."

The two hunters continued on their way through the afternoon heat, slowly and quietly. Behind them, a low, bony shadow slid through the trees, bent on a terrible purpose.