"Who is it?" asked Braid, already out of breath as much from excitement as from running.
"The Germans. They are on our track."
"You are sure of that?" asked Harry.
"Master," said Cortes, "it is not possible to mistake a German bullet. In this part of the world only those natives carry rifles who are paid by Kaiser Wilhelm."
Indeed, for weeks already, they had been in the heart of the enemy's country. The elder guide was some miles away, and, since they could not cross the valley, they would have to make a detour; which meant that they could not possibly rejoin Fernando before nightfall. By then, for all they knew, they might find him lying in his own blood, their provisions and their reserve ammunition stolen.
Harry looked at Cortes, who seemed to be thinking, standing at his full height, his fingers playing with his chin.
"We must not desert your brother," said the boy.
"I am thinking," said the guide, "it will be easier for him to reach us than for you and your friend to go to him. My brother and I are hunters; we can pass through the bush in silence; we can travel amid the rocks like snakes. I could cross that valley crawling on my face, and the eye of an eagle would not see me. As for you, you are Englishmen; you have not lived your lives in the mountains and the bush; you do not understand these things."
He said this with some scorn in his voice. There was something about the man—despite his European clothes—that was fully in keeping with the aspect of their surroundings, which were savage, relentless, and cruel. He went on in a calm voice, speaking very slowly:
"In this valley we are safe," said he. "I know the country well. Yonder," and he pointed to the north, "there is a forest that lies upon the hill-side like a mantle. I will guide you. It will take us about two hours to get there. Then I will leave you. You will be quite safe; for many of the trunks of the trees are hollow, and should the Germans come, you can hide. I will go alone to my brother and bring him back with me."