A party of natives were approaching from the Xingu, and the keener
hearing of Johnston first discovered them.

The whites had stopped near a spot where a few rays of moonlight fell
upon the trail, giving them a faint but needed view of the direction
from which the danger threatened.

Neither spoke again, but with the utmost care and noiselessness, they
stepped aside from the path and crouched among the undergrowth.

They had barely time to ensconce themselves in their new position, when
the footfalls sounded more distinctly than before, and something in the
nature of an exclamation was heard from one of the approaching savages.

It sounded more like the grunt of a pig than anything the listeners
could call to mind, and Ashman feared it was notice of one warrior to
his companions that he had discovered something amiss.

But if such were the fact, the natives would have stopped, while the
cat-like steps were more audible than before, though the wonder to the
watchers was that the parties continued invisible.

The eyes of both remained fixed on the faintly illuminated space, where
they expected to catch sight of them, but the straining gaze failed to
detect the most shadowy form.

Ashman was just beginning to suspect some strange mistake had been
made, when he suddenly saw the form of a tall savage with bushy head
and a javelin in his hand, glide like a shadow into the darkness in
front. A moment after, a second followed, then a third, fourth and