Daylight awoke us, for we were both creatures of the Wild. Marking the position of the sun, we set forward towards the west, hoping to gain that night the ravine where we had left William Rushby.
Bannister told me that he feared for Rushby's life, since he was sure that Amos and the others would return to the ravine with all possible speed, so soon as ever they discovered that I had escaped from their clutches. I thought by now that I had a fair knowledge of the topography of the Wood; but I soon found that Bannister knew as much, or even more, than I. In the night we must have fled towards the south; for we had not gone far upon the route that we had chosen before we came upon the Brook of Scarlet Pebbles.
"I know where we are," cried Bannister, at once. "We are about five miles to the south of the Big Fish itself. I can tell that by the size of the stones in the stream. We had better change our course towards the south."
"But that will take us away from the ravine," said I, "which lies due west of the Wood, some distance to the north of the Spaniard's Tomb!"
"You're right, there," said Bannister. "It may be a long way round; but the longest way is often the quickest, Dick. In a few hours we should be clear of the Wood, although too far to the south. But we shall have open country before us, and should march four miles an hour."
I had, by now, told Bannister my story of all that had happened to me since I first fell into the hands of Amos Baverstock. He asked few questions, though these were always to the point; and when I had told him everything, he said nothing, but just placed one of his great hands upon my shoulder, and patted me so affectionately that the action conveyed far more to me than any words he might have used. I knew that he cared for me more than he dared trust himself to say, and, moreover, he approved of all that I had done.
So we journeyed towards the north-west, and came, full early in the afternoon, to open country. Before us we could see the rocky spurs and ridges--which were, in fact, the beginning of the foothills of the Andes--running northward for several miles, to end quite suddenly at the morass.
John Bannister had changed greatly since the days when I knew him first. He looked as big and strong as ever, but had become pitifully thin; and I thought his hair was greyer, and there were deeper lines upon his forehead. His mouth I could not see, for he had grown a great beard, more than touched with grey. And this beard, merged into his long moustache, was spread like the beard of a paladin upon his chest.
We directed our way northward in a bee-line, so far as we could judge, towards the ravine where we had left William Rushby; and this compelled us to clamber over the rocky hillocks and to cross the gullies and declivities that intervened. It was hard work, and the sun was baking hot. And yet Bannister would not halt, even for food, for we both knew well enough that the boatswain's life was in the greatest danger.
"If Baverstock gets there before us," said he, "not only will he gain possession of the map, and thereby learn the secret of the Treasure, but there is very little doubt that he will put Rushby to death."