Then they slowed up and looked, but there was no sound and no sign from the hidden enemy.

Doubtless, fierce eyes were glaring out upon them, but they could see nothing, and with a long uneasy look all around they kept on for a mile or so, when they came upon a clearing that spoke of man.

It spoke of man, but there was nothing living in the few acres that had been hewn out of the woods.
A ring of black embers showed where huts had stood, a dug-out canoe lay half in, half out the waters, a broken clay pot, a rusty hoe, and a litter of bones were gathered forlornly in one spot, and a strip of cloth fluttered from a scarred post.

They ran the Okapi in, and Muata, with his jackal, leapt ashore to decipher what this writing in the forest meant.

The jackal showed none of the delight that a dog would have shown under similar conditions, but at once vanished into the wood, with his nose to the ground, bent on the serious business of life--that of nosing out the enemy, while his master, with his favourite Ghoorka knife in his hand, rapidly inspected the ground.
Instinctively they all felt the need for caution.