Nan, however, awoke long before dawn again. She felt lame and
stiff, like an old person afflicted with rheumatism. The
unusualness of the previous day's activities caused this stiffness
of the joints and soreness of her muscles.

She heard the fires crackling and saw the reflection of firelight
on the side of the tent, so she knew the cooks were astir. But
nobody else seemed to be moving yet, and Nan might have turned over
for another nap had it not been for a peculiar sound which suddenly
smote upon her ear, and seemingly from a long way off.

After hearing this for a minute or two, she got up and crept to the
tent entrance. The flap was laid back for the sake of ventilation,
and with her kimono hunched about her shoulders, she crouched in
the doorway and looked out across the open space before the grove
in which the camp was pitched. It was just between dark and dawn
when strange figures seem to move in the dimness of out-of-doors.
Yet Nan knew there really was nothing stirring there on the plain.
The herd was much farther away.

The sound that had disturbed her came to her ears again, a high,
thin, crackling whistle--a most uncanny noise.

"What can it be?" murmured Nan aloud.

"Nan!" whispered a voice beyond her.

"Goodness! Is that you, Walter Mason?" she demanded, huddling her
robe closer about her.