And Jerry, as softly as Nalasu, informed him again that it was men, many men, more men than five.
With the patience of age Nalasu sat on without movement, until, close at hand, on the very edge of the jungle, sixty feet away, he located a particular noise of a particular man.

He stretched his bow, loosed the arrow, and was rewarded by a gasp and a groan strangely commingled.

First he restrained Jerry from retrieving the arrow, which he knew had gone home; and next he fitted a fresh arrow to the bow string.
Fifteen minutes of silence passed, the blind man as if carven of stone, the dog, trembling with eagerness under the articulate touch of his fingers, obeying the bidding to make no sound.

For Jerry, as well as Nalasu, knew that death rustled and lurked in the encircling dark.

Again came a softness of movement, nearer than before; but the sped arrow missed.