We
bore somewhat to the right, and I judged that our circuit was
completed, and that the time had come to steal in front of the Indian
route. The forest thinned, and we traversed a marshy piece, of country
with many single great trees. Often Shalah would halt for a second,
strain his ears, and sniff the light wind like a dog. He seemed to find
guidance, but I got none, only the hoot of an owl or the rooty smell of
the woodland.
At last we struck a little stream, and followed its course between high
banks of pine. Suddenly Shalah's movements became stealthy. Crouching
in every patch of shade, and crossing open spaces on our bellies, we
turned from the stream, surmounted a knoll, and came down on a wooded
valley. Shalah looked westwards, held up his hand, and stood poised for
a minute like a graven image. Then he grunted and spoke. "We are safe,"
he said. "They are behind us, and are camped for the night," How he
knew that I cannot tell; but I seemed to catch on the breeze a whiff of
the rancid odour of Indian war-paint.
For another mile we continued our precautions, and then moved more
freely in the open. Now that the chief peril was past, my fatigue came
back to me worse than ever. I think I was growing leg-weary, as I had
seen happen to horses, and from that ailment there is no relief.
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