Mark looked at him interrogatively.
“Bad sign if they are a fierce lot like the New Guinea men; good sign if they are peaceable fellows, for it shows that it is quite possible to live here.”
The sight which had caught Mark’s attention was a thin cloud of vapour rising slowly from among some low bushes, and it was evident that there was a fire and some cooking operation going on.
“Better part of valour is discretion,” said the major softly. “Not going to run away, Mark—soldiers can’t do that—but we must retire and take up fresh ground, my lad, for your father expressly pointed out to me that we were not cannibals, and that I was not to shoot the human savage. Keep out of sight. Perhaps we had better return.”
They backed away softly, the dog following, and the major whispered:
“The mystery is explained, Mark. It must have been one of those interesting gentlemen who made that terrific row. His idea of a cooey, I suppose.”
A low growl came from Bruff just then, and they stopped short, the silence being broken by the dick, dick of the major’s gun.
They had on retiring gone a little higher up the slope so as to be more among the trees, and the result was that they found themselves at the top of a little ridge and at the edge of the denser growth, so that, as they paused, they could look down into another part where the trees gave place to low bushes and glorious ferns, the whole being a glade of surpassing loveliness, such a spot as might very well be chosen by a party of simple savages for their home.
The major pressed Mark down, and they cowered among the trees, for they were evidently going right in sight of a second encampment.
“Keep the dog quiet if you can, lad,” whispered the major, peering among the trees. “Can’t see their attap (see note 1) huts, but there are plenty of fruit-trees.”