"Hey, Doc!" I called, "something's burning."
He stopped and turned around. There was a queer look in his eyes, almost like he wasn't all there—dopey.
"Yes," he said, not seeming surprised at all. Then he pointed ahead. "Smoke—I saw it some time back."
He started on again. The whole thing wasn't natural. For almost a week we had seen no living human being. And now, smoke—a wood fire, as I could tell by the scent—seemed to mean that we were getting near where someone lived. And yet, Doc hadn't thought it worth mentioning!
Well, I followed him on for a hundred yards. Then we turned a bend in the creek. The jangal opened up, and there, under the spread of a huge plane-tree, was the fire.
It was a small fire. Over it, roasting to a turn, were three dangling fowls; and near by stood a strange human figure—a man.
He beckoned to us. And as we approached he stood with folded arms, facing us.
"I am Rog Tanlu," he said in stiff but absolutely correct English. "I called you, and you came."
Doc Champ, ahead of me, straightened with a start. It was almost as though he had just realized the queerness of all this.
"Good Lord!" I heard him gasp softly.