"Jeekie," said Alan, "what did Fahni mean by that tale about white
people?"
"Don't know, Major, think perhaps he lie to let you down easy. My golly!
what that?"
As he spoke a distant echo reached their ears, the echo of a rifle shot.
"Think Fanny not lie after all," went on Jeekie; "that white man's gun,
sharp crack, smokeless powder, but wonder how he come in this place.
Well, we soon find out. Come on, Major."
Tired as they were they broke into a run; the prospect of seeing a white
face again was too much for them. Half a mile or so further on they
caught sight of a figure evidently engaged in stalking game among the
trees, or so they judged from his cautious movements.
"White man!" said Jeekie, and Alan nodded.
They crept forward silently and with care, for who knew what this white
man might be after, keeping a great tree between them and the man, till
at length, passing round its bole, they found themselves face to face
with him and not five yards away. Notwithstanding his unaccustomed
tropical dress and his face burnt copper colour by the sun, Alan knew
the man at once.
"Aylward!" he gasped; "Aylward! You here?"
He started.
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