By that time Fernando had got to his feet. He came swaying towards them, and clutched hold of Jim's arm for support. Perhaps the climate of the Coast had weakened his constitution. At any rate, he was now far weaker than the others—even than Klein.
"We are saved!" he cried. "But beware of treachery. For all we know the Black Dog may be hiding at the entrance."
Harry cared nothing for that. A sense of freedom, a breath of mountain air, were worth all the risk in the world. He scrambled up, caught hold of the edge of the hole, and with great difficulty managed to pull himself through, so that he stood in the light of the stars, amid the mists that wrapped the mountain.
At his feet lay a still, dark form. It was that of a human being, but so motionless that the boy feared that it was that of a dead man. Going down upon his knees, he turned the body over, so that the face was uplifted to the moon; and at once he recognized the features of Cortes, the younger guide, who had gone out to slay the sheikh.
He spoke to the man, but received no answer. Then he rushed to a spring that was near by and quenched his burning thirst.
There he was joined by Jim Braid and Peter Klein. Both went down upon their knees at the spring-side to drink their fill.
After that they assisted the elder guide to escape from the terrible prison in which they had spent so many days. They sprinkled water upon the lips of the younger man, and at last he opened his eyes.
"We thought you dead," said Harry. "Tell us what happened to you?"
"I went my way, dressed in the clothes of that cur, to trick the Black Dog of the Cameroons. Knowing the man with whom I had to deal, I was cautious and on my guard.
"I approached so silently that not even a lizard could have taken alarm. Then I saw the man waiting for me on the mountain-side. He was dressed in his white Arab robes; he was seated on a boulder, with his rifle on his knees.