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The Lost World | Arthur Conan Doyle | |
The Outlying Pickets Of The New World |
Page 3 of 8 |
And yet there were indications that even human life itself was not far from us in those mysterious recesses. On the third day out we were aware of a singular deep throbbing in the air, rhythmic and solemn, coming and going fitfully throughout the morning. The two boats were paddling within a few yards of each other when first we heard it, and our Indians remained motionless, as if they had been turned to bronze, listening intently with expressions of terror upon their faces. "What is it, then?" I asked. "Drums," said Lord John, carelessly; "war drums. I have heard them before." "Yes, sir, war drums," said Gomez, the half-breed. "Wild Indians, bravos, not mansos; they watch us every mile of the way; kill us if they can." "How can they watch us?" I asked, gazing into the dark, motionless void. The half-breed shrugged his broad shoulders. "The Indians know. They have their own way. They watch us. They talk the drum talk to each other. Kill us if they can." |
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