“It may be a bush or stone,” muttered Webster.
“Neh, sieur, it is a man.”
“They are right,” said Hume; “look!” and he pointed to where a column of smoke rose straight into the air from a spur which ran to the forest behind them.
As they watched, another column shot into the air behind; then a third, from the summit of the mountain; then a fourth, faintly descried still more distant; and as they looked, the darkness swept over the scene, and in place of the smoke there gleamed out a spot of red on the peak.
“They speak to one another of our coming,” said Sirayo.
“There you see Kaffir telegraphy, Miss Laura; in five minutes the villages within ten miles have warning. The way through the forest you suggested is guarded; we must seek the shelter of the reeds and push on under their cover. There must be no fires to-night. Forward!”
Slowly they picked their way over loose stones, through dongas deep and slippery, through thorns and bushes, until the reeds closed upon them. Then, with their heavy hunting knives, they cut out an open space, stacked the fallen reeds in a wall, made beds with the leaves of others, and passed the night.