gathered in the noisome shadows, bottles were
passed, heads thrown back and arms bent aloft.

Above, a great, sagging tent was staked to the
obdurate ground. To the left a wooden floor had
been temporarily laid about a four-square, open
counter, now bare, with a locked shed for storage.
Before Gordon was the sleeping tent for women.
The sun seemed unable to dispel the miasma of the
swamp, the surrounding aspect of mean desolation.
The scene was petty, depressing. It was surcharged
by a curious air of tension, of suspense, a brooding,
treacherous hysteria, an ugly, raw, emotional menace.
A service was in progress; a sustained, convulsive
murmur came from within, a wordless, fluctuating
lament. Suddenly it was pierced by a shrill,
high scream, a voice tormented out of all semblance
to reason. The sound grew deeper and louder;
it swung into a rhythm which formed into words,
lines, a primitive chant that filled the plateau,
swelled out over the swamp. It continued for an
incredible length of time, rising to an unbearable
pitch, then it died away in a great gasp.

A thin, sinister echo rose from among the willows --
emotional, shrill curses, a brief, raving outburst
of passion, sharply punctuated with double
shots, and falling abruptly to heavy silence. Gordon
saw men obscurely running below.

The curtained entrance to the tent was pushed

[[186]]

p185 _ -chap- _ toc-1 _ p186w _ toc-2 _ +chap+ _ p187

v?