He leaned forward and
stepped more slowly, avoiding, so far as he could, making any noise
on the leaves or against the bushes and limbs which he had to push
aside to allow him to advance.
At the instant of reaching the highest point he heard the voices
again, so close that he knew they were made by white people,
who were in a clump of dense undergrowth. A faint wreath of smoke
filtering through the branches overhead showed they had started a
small fire, beside which they were probably sitting or reclining
on the ground.
Now that he was certain they belonged to his own race, he had less
fear. Still, they might prove unpleasant neighbors when they came
to know one of the party was a daughter of Omas. Turning toward his
friends, who were watching him, Ben made a sign for them to stay
where they were while he went forward.
He moved with the same care as before, but an unexpected accident
spoiled everything. His foot caught in a wire-like vine, and
he almost fell on his hands and knees. Aware that he had betrayed
himself, he threw aside further caution, hurried down the slope,
and called out in a guarded undertone--
"Helloa there, friends!"
"Who are you?" was the demand that instantly followed, and from the
undergrowth, beside a small fire, two men suddenly rose upright,
each with rifle in hand.
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