Manhood came to his assistance--the spirit of the soldier that will bow to nothing that has shape; but it died away again as the creeping silence once more shut down on him.
And then the thunder of the tom-toms ceased.

Then even the venomed crawlers that he knew were near him faded into nothing that really mattered, compared to the greater, stealthy horror that he knew was coming, born of the shuddersome, shut silence that ensued.

There was neither air nor view--no sense of time or space--nothing but the coal-black pit of terror yawning--cold sweat in the heat, and a footfall--an undoubted footfall--followed by another one, too heavy for a man's.
Where heavy feet were there was something tangible.

His veins tingled and the cold sweat dried.

Excitement began to reawaken all his soldier senses, and the wish to challenge seized him--the soldierly intent to warn the unaware, which is the actual opposite of cowardice.
"Halt! Who comes there ?" He lipped the words, but his dry throat would not voice them.