“No doubt; but the flaming sword will keep us in, not out.”
During the march I had not failed to keep Christopher in the corner of my eye. I had been trying to read in his face one of those flashes of insight which his fine instinct sometimes threw into dark places. He had held his listening attitude often since I found him standing beside me on the sand. It had given his face a certain leaden alertness, which, as we beheld the valley, slowly faded into the habitual blankness, and I saw that it was useless to question him.
We descended through a steep, narrow cleft, and were marched through a forest to the stream. A rude bridge bore us across, and there we found a large number of natives rapidly and skilfully building us a village of huts made from logs, boughs, and thatch. From all indications, they must have begun the work almost immediately after we landed. Large stores of food and other necessities had been accumulated; nothing needed for our comfort and sustenance had been neglected.
As soon as the soldiers had helped us bring order to the camp and the building of the village was finished, they and the workmen melted away in the twilight.
CHAPTER III.—The Menace of the Face.
Accepting the Challenge. The Threat. What the Face Saw on the Bluff. A Mysterious Visitor. The Fan-Bearer’s Conspiracy.
CAPTAIN Mason and I occupied the same hut, but we held no converse that night before falling into heavy slumber. Christopher insisted on sleeping outside the door. If any of our party had thought it prudent to appoint a watchman, no suggestion to that effect was made; but there was no knowing what responsibilities Christopher assumed.
The sun was looking over the great wall when we assembled for breakfast. Every one had a brighter appearance. I had never seen men so terribly cowed as these since the storms had beaten them down. The women had looked beyond the hopelessness, and had tried to sustain the courage of the colony. Every man was now beginning to hold up his head.