CHAPTER XVIII.

A Brush in the Wilderness.

Ralph leaped to his feet and presented his ready rifle. But it was
only Ben. The sailor's rugged face wore a look of alarm.

"I'm glad ye're up," was his first remark. "I don't like the look of
things, though what's stirrin' is more nor I can make out."

"What have yon seen--or heard, for that matter? One can't see much
under this wall of woods all about."

"Divil a bit! So I pricked up me ears for list'nin. The crocydiles
kep' up such a hullabaloo I could hardly hear meself think, but somehow
I caught on to the sound of paddles a goin'. Hist now! Can't 'e hear
that?"

They were at one edge of the village, which was not defended by a
kraal, or stockade, as is often the custom where enemies are feared.
The dense forest undergrowth was not over thirty yards away.

They could now hear certain stealthy sounds, as of some one or
something moving within the timber.

"I will wake Mr. Duff," whispered Ralph. "You go back to the boat,
Ben. They may see us by the fire."

The sailor returned to his post. The lad soon had the mate awake,