Then the fringe dweller feels that he is an outcast from the warm
places of the world where men and women meet in social intercourse.
Holman, who had been staring in silence at the fire for some twenty
minutes, turned toward me after the Professor had retired.
"Sleepy?" asked the youngster.
"Worse than that," I muttered.
"Let's turn in."
The "turning in" was an easy performance. We lay down on the pile of
leaves which the carriers had scraped together, pulled a rug over us,
and in spite of the surroundings I was soon fast asleep.
It was Holman's fist that disturbed my slumber. It came with some force
against my short rib, and I sat upright. The moonlight made it possible
to see across the valley, while every object around the camp was clearly
outlined.
Holman was sitting up on his leafy bed, and I put a question
breathlessly as I jerked myself upright.
"What's up?"
"Didn't he say that this place was uninhabited?" asked the youngster.
"Yes," I answered. "Why?"
"Well, some one has just pushed his head and shoulders up above that
stone table," whispered Holman.
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