The three men listened intently. There was the sound of voices not far from where they sat.
"By Jove, we must be near a road," said Helmar, as the sound grew louder. "I'm going to reconnoitre."
"No, no, let me go!" said the other two in a breath.
Without waiting for reply they darted off into the bush, and Helmar was left to himself. For some moments he gave himself up to surmising the origin of the sounds he now heard distinctly. As they came nearer he could distinguish the language in which the voices spoke, and with an exclamation of anxiety, he recognized it.
"Gipsies, by Jove! There'll be trouble if they come across those fellows," he muttered. "I must go and find them."
There was reason for his anxiety. In these parts the gipsies were practically brigands, and would rob and even murder without the least compunction. In recognizing the language Helmar had realized a danger for which he had in no wise prepared. He wondered if they had discovered the camping-ground. Suddenly he thought of the fire, and feared the smoke from it might have betrayed their whereabouts. However, in case it had not, he was determined to guard against such a possibility, and immediately poured some water on it.
Looking round, his eye chanced on a heavy branch of a tree, which had been brought in for fire-wood; breaking a substantial limb off it, he quickly trimmed it into a heavy club.
Giving one last look round he slipped off his coat, and, armed with his formidable weapon, darted into the bush, following in the footsteps of his companions as best he could.
