“Look over there, just to the left of the fire. Isn’t that some one watching us?”
“Tree trunk,” said Cyril laconically.
There was a pause, and then Perry whispered again.
“I say, I don’t want to be cowardly, but there’s some one coming slowly through the trees. I caught a glimpse of his back. He’s stooping down—there, between those two big trunks, where it’s open. Don’t you see—stooping?”
“Yes, I see, and nibbling the grass as he comes. One of the mules.”
Perry shaded his eyes—needlessly, for there was no glare to shut out—and he soon convinced himself that his companion was right.
But he felt annoyed, and said testily:
“I wish you wouldn’t be so ready to contradict everything I say.”
Cyril laughed softly.
“Why, you didn’t want it to be an enemy, did you?”