Beckoning the Indian to fall behind, he crept forward, with his heart beating painfully, and stopped a moment just outside the entrance.

It was obvious that he had not been heard, but he could not tell whether Clarke was alone.

Then the Indian, creeping silently up behind him, dragged the doorway open.

Harding jumped quickly through the entrance, and stood, ragged, unkempt, and strung up, blinking in the unaccustomed light.
The tent had an earth floor, with a layer of reeds and grass thrown down on one side.

It was frail, and hinted at changing times and poverty, for the original skin cover had been patched and eked out with the products of civilization in the shape of cotton flour-bags and old sacking.