"I can run," said he. "I was a tracker once by trade. I undertake to keep upon his trail. Do you follow as quickly as you can."
Fernando laid a hand upon his brother's shoulder.
"You will not kill him?" he said.
"No. The man's life is yours."
With these words Cortes sped upon his way, springing from boulder to boulder, supple in figure, agile despite his wound. He had spent much of his life hunting wild game in the midst of unexplored, inhospitable hills. He was quick of eye and sure of foot.
Outrunning his companions, he went rapidly upon his way, and was soon lost to sight. All that afternoon they followed in his tracks, and towards evening they heard a shot, high up in the mountains, many miles to the north.
A grim smile passed across the face of the elder guide, who calmly turned to Harry.
"Yonder," said he, "is the sheikh."
"It was he who fired?" asked Harry.
Fernando shook his head.