But he walked on, feeling that nothing must be left undone to save Nell. After two hours he came to a very stony place, where the grass was lower, and so it was much lighter.
The two peaks looked as far off as ever, but a little nearer there were some rocks running irregularly in a transverse direction, above which towered a taller rock, and they apparently encased a kind of valley or gorge, resembling the one in which King had been imprisoned. Now on the side of the cliff—about three or four hundred feet distant—he perceived the bright reflection of a flame.
He stood still. His heart was again beating so wildly that in the silence of the night he could hear it thump. Whom is he likely to encounter down there? Arabians from the eastern coast? Smain’s Dervishes? Or savage negroes, who have left their native villages, and fleeing from the Dervishes, have taken refuge in the most impenetrable forest of the mountains? Will he there find death, or imprisonment, or perhaps help for Nell?
It was impossible for him to turn back now, and besides, he had no inclination to do so; he crept slowly toward the fire, stepping as lightly as possible, and holding his breath. After he had gone about a hundred steps, he suddenly heard the neighing of horses in the jungle, and he stood still. By the light of the moon he counted five. The Dervishes would have had more, so he supposed that the others were probably hidden in the tall grass. But he was surprised that no one was watching them, or that at least a fire had not been left burning in order to frighten off the wild beasts. He thanked God that things were as they were, for he could now advance without attracting attention.
The light of the fire on the cliff became still plainer. In less than a quarter of an hour Stasch reached a place where the cliff opposite him was brilliantly lighted, which satisfied him that a fire must be burning directly below it.
Crawling on all fours, he crept carefully up to the side and looked down.
The first object that attracted his attention was a large white tent. Before the tent stood a canvas camp-bed, and on it lay a person wearing white European clothes. A small negro, apparently about twelve years old, was throwing dry wood into the fire, which illuminated the side of the cliff, and a row of negroes were sleeping on either side of the tent. The next moment Stasch slid down the slope into the bottom of the gorge.
“On a canvas camp-stead lay a person wearing white European clothes. . . . A row of negroes were sleeping on either side of the tent.”