The first object which struck his eyes was a big white tent; before the tent stood a canvas field bed, and on it lay a man attired in a white European dress. A little negro, perhaps twelve years old, was adding dry fuel to the fire which illumined the rocky wall and a row of negroes sleeping under it on both sides of the tent.
Stas in one moment slid down the declivity to the bottom of the ravine.
XI
For some time from exhaustion and emotion he could not utter a word, and stood panting heavily before the man lying on the bed, who also was silent and stared at him with an amazement bordering almost upon unconsciousness.
Finally the latter exclaimed:
"Nasibu! Are you there?"
"Yes, master," answered the negro lad.
"Do you see any one any one standing there before me?"
But before the boy was able to reply Stas recovered his speech.
"Sir," he said, "my name is Stanislas Tarkowski. With little Miss Rawlinson I have escaped from dervish captivity and we are hiding in the jungle. But Nell is terribly sick; and for her sake I beg for help."