He felt for his revolver, and, finding that it was in his belt, descended the hill quickly towards them.
With every step which he took he could distinguish them more plainly.
There were five Kru boys, a native of a tribe which he did not recognise, and a European who walked with reeling footsteps, and who, it was easy to see, was on the point of exhaustion.

Soon they saw him, and a feeble shout greeted his approach.

Trent was within hailing distance before he recognised the European.

Then, with a little exclamation of surprise, he saw that it was Captain Francis.
They met face to face in a moment, but Francis never recognised him.

His eyes were bloodshot, a coarse beard disguised his face, and his clothes hung about him in rags.