An owl, lodged in the fork of a tree, moved not as the men passed.

It, too, was whelmed in deep, temporary Nirvana.
The party's next find arrested them, with a thrill of genuine emotion, a triumph that could not be denied some few half-whispered exclamations of exultation from the Master's three companions.

He himself was the only one who spoke no word.

But, like the others, he had stopped and was pointing the beam of his light on the figure lying inert among broken bushes.
With his toe he touched this figure.

His light picked up the man's face from the gloom.