In London he had scarcely dared admit
so much even to himself. Here, in this vast solitude, he was more
master of himself - dreams which seemed to him the most beautiful
and the most daring which he had ever conceived, filled his brain
and stirred his senses till the blood in his veins seemed flowing
to a new and wonderful music. Those were wonderful moments for him.
His pipe was nearly out, and a cooler breeze was stealing over the
plain. After all, perhaps an hour or so's sleep would be possible
now. He stretched himself and yawned, cast one more glance across
the moonlit plain, and then stood suddenly still, stiffened into an
attitude of breathless interest. Yonder, between two lines of
shrubs, were moving bodies - men, footsore and weary, crawling
along with slow, painful movements; one at least of them was a
European, and even at that distance Trent could tell that they were
in grievous straits. He felt for his revolver, and, finding that
it was in his belt, descended the hill quickly towards them.
With every step which he took he could distinguish them more
plainly. There were five Kru boys, a native of a tribe which he
did not recognise, and a European who walked with reeling footsteps,
and who, it was easy to see, was on the point of exhaustion.
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