Looking towards the other side of the plain he saw signs that the Barushu were also astir. The points of light twinkled at him across the intervening space.
The sky in the east was becoming tinged with red. The silence was broken only by the sound of his animals munching their corn. This, slight as it was, woke a flock of guinea fowl roosting in some trees not far away; they began to exchange shrill greetings.
As it became lighter he could see a thin ribbon of white mist suspended over the swamp. This did not interfere with his view of the high ground on which the Barushu had camped during the night, but he could distinguish nothing but the dark shadow of the palm trees and undergrowth. The light of the first was becoming rapidly paler as the day dawned.
The gunbearer, who had the usual eyesight of uncivilised man, was the first to notice movement on the other side.
"The Barushu are coming, Morena."
"Good, many of them?"
"Yes, many."
Wrenshaw took his glasses and scanned the further edge of the swamp. Yes, there they came, in single file. He smiled as he noted the twistings of the secret path which they followed. On they came, a thin black stream fed constantly from the palm tree forest. Soon the head of the column disappeared in the stratum of mist which obscured the greater part of the swamp, but the stream of natives from the palm trees did not cease.
Wrenshaw untied his rifle from the tent pole and put it and the horse pistol on his camp table. Then he pushed the table into the patrol tent and, placing his chair in the entrance, sat down. In this position he had only to stretch out his hand to reach his weapons if the necessity arose; in the meantime they were out of sight.
Although he had been expecting for some time to see the first Barushu emerge from the mist, he was a little startled when he realised that the van of the oncoming column was within three hundred yards of him. The natives had left the secret path, but still moved in single file.