At ten o'clock all the camp was asleep, excepting the two men told off to
keep guard; who paced from one end of the camp to the other to keep
themselves awake; or stood chatting by the large fire, which still burnt at
one end.

In the Captain's tent a light was kept burning all night, which shone
through the thin canvas sides, and shed light on the ground about; but, for
the rest, the camp was dead and still.

By half-past one the moon had gone down, and there was left only a blaze of
stars in the great African sky.

Then Peter Halket rose up; softly he lifted the canvas and crept out. On
the side furthest from the camp he stood upright. On his arm was tied his
red handkerchief with its contents. For a moment he glanced up at the
galaxy of stars over him; then he stepped into the long grass, and made his
way in a direction opposite to that in which the camp lay. But after a
short while he turned, and made his way down into the river bed. He walked
in it for a while. Then after a time he sat down upon the bank and took
off his heavy boots and threw them into the grass at the side. Then
softly, on tip-toe, he followed the little footpath that the men had
trodden going down to the river for water. It led straight up to the
Captain's tent, and the little flat-topped tree, with its white stem, and
its two gnarled branches spread out on either side. When he was within
forty paces of it, he paused. Far over the other side of the camp the two
men who were on guard stood chatting by the fire. A dead stillness was
over the rest of the camp. The light through the walls of the Captain's
tent made all clear at the stem of the little tree; but there was no sound
of movement within.