Every now and then came a wild, shrill cry from the lower end of the village.

Some one was beating a frightful, cracked drum which they had got from a trader.

The tumult was certainly increasing.

Trent swore softly, and then looked irresolutely over his shoulder to where Monty was sleeping.
"If the worst comes we shall never get away quickly," he muttered.

"That old carcase can scarcely drag himself along." Sam looked at him with cunning eyes.
"He not fit only die," he said softly.