Cock-a-doodle-doo came from a short distance off to our left, and directly after, in response to the challenge, there came the beating of wings from somewhere away in front, and another deeper-voiced crow came through the denser darkness.
“Gil,” whispered Brace—and I felt his hot breath in my ear—“we are close up to the village.”
We stood there with beating hearts, and a feeling of excitement that was almost unbearable growing upon us as, after a little more rustling, the fowls quieted down, and carefully feeling his way with his sword, Brace took a few steps in the direction of the first crowing. Then his sword tapped against wood, and there was a loud cackling from several fowls above our head.
“Hist,” I said.
“No danger,” he said; “they will think it is a jackal disturbing the birds.”
As he spoke, he felt about with his sword, and whispered to me—
“We are in a rough kind of shed supported on bamboo poles. Come on.”
He led the way again past the place that he had first touched with his sword, and we could feel that we were passing over hard beaten ground. Directly after, Brace touched another building, and went on, carefully feeling about, while I fully expected from moment to moment that I should hear a challenge followed by the flash of a piece and its loud report.
“Cottage—door open—empty,” whispered Brace; and he crept on cautiously, to find another place directly, and so on, one after the other, cottage after cottage, the beaten path telling us that we were in a well-frequented place; but the silence was profound, and it soon became evident that we were on the site of the village—if village it was—that was quite deserted.
Brace stopped short, his sword having encountered what he found was a tree trunk, and a little further investigation proved that several more were dotted about.