Along its rim bristled a
scrubby fringe of weeds, black against a rosy cloud.
After a time, something still blacker parted the weeds. In silhouette, a
man's head, his hand grasping a staff or the muzzle of a gun, remained
there as still as though, crawling to the verge, he lay petrified in the
act of spying.
CHAPTER XVII
LAMP OF HEAVEN
The white men peered from among the oil-jars, like two of the Forty
Thieves. They could detect no movement, friendly or hostile: the black
head lodged there without stirring. The watcher, whether he had seen
them or not, was in no hurry; for with chin propped among the weeds, he
held a pose at once alert and peaceful, mischievous and leisurely, as
though he were master of that hollow, and might lie all night drowsing
or waking, as the humor prompted.
Wutzler pressed his face against the earth, and shivered in the stifling
heat. The uncertainty grew, with Rudolph, into an acute distress. His
legs ached and twitched, the bones of his neck were stretched as if to
break, and a corner of broken clay bored sharply between his ribs. He
felt no fear, however: only a great impatience to have the spy
begin,--rise, beckon, call to his fellows, fire his gun, hit or miss.
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