He slunk in cautiously--then stopped, flat on his belly, just outside the rim of firelight.

Then he saw that neither of the men was Challoner.

But both were smoking, as Challoner had smoked.

He could hear their voices, and they were like Challoner's voice.

And the camp was the same--a fire, a pot hanging over it, a tent, and in the air the odours of recently cooked things.
Another moment or two and he would have gone into the firelight.