He must wait for the Avenger to creep up, silently kill the guard, and release the prisoners without awakening the savages.

If that plan failed, he was to rush into the glade, and in the excitement make off with one of the captives.
He lay there waiting, listening, wrought up to the intensest pitch of fierce passion.

Every nerve was alert, every tendon strung, and every muscle strained ready for the leap.
Only the faint rustling of leaves, the low swish of swaying branches, the soft murmur of falling water, and over all the sigh of the night wind, proved to him that this picture was not an evil dream.

His gaze sought the quiet figures, lingered hopefully on the captives, menacingly on the sleeping savages, and glowered over the gaudily arrayed form.

His glance sought the upright guard, as he stood a dark blot against the gray stone.