The trocha lay before them.
After the cavernous obscurity of the jungle the night seemed
suddenly to lighten and O'Reilly found himself looking out over a
level waste of stumps and tree-trunks perhaps a quarter of a mile
wide, extending right and left as far as he could see. Against the
luminous western horizon opposite the inky forest stood like a
wall. Midway of the clearing there was a railroad grade with a
telephone-pole or two limned against the sky. The clearing was
silent and to all appearances deserted; nothing stirred, no sign
of life appeared anywhere. And yet, as the American studied the
place, he had a queer, uncomfortable sensation that it was thickly
peopled and that eyes were peering out at him from the gloom.
Blurred forms took shape, phantom figures moved along the
embankment, stumps stirred.
O'Reilly felt a pair of reins thrust into his hand and found
Hilario examining a large pair of tinner's shears.
"Do you wish me to go with you?" he inquired of the guide.
The latter shook his head. "Antonio will go; he will keep watch
while I clear a path. If you hear or see anything--"
Jacket interrupted with a sibilant: "Psst! Look! Yonder!"
A lantern-like illumination had leaped out of the blackness and
now approached swiftly down the railroad grade.
O'Reilly laid a heavy hand upon the old Camagueyan and inquired in
sharp suspicion, "What does that mean--an alarm?"
There was a breathless moment during which the four men followed
the erratic course of the spark.
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