Joan was rummaging in the storeroom, and Sheldon was taking his siesta in a hammock on the veranda.

He awoke gently.

In some occult, subtle way a warning that all was not well had penetrated his sleep and aroused him.

Without moving, he glanced down and saw the ground beneath covered with armed savages.

They were the same ones he had parted with that morning, though he noted an accession in numbers.
There were men he had not seen before.
He slipped from the hammock and with deliberate slowness sauntered to the railing, where he yawned sleepily and looked down on them.