The two rescuers followed, Haverly covering with his revolver the hideous form of their savage guide.
Amid the boulders which lined the base of the hills the three threaded their way, darting into hiding occasionally to escape the notice of some passing savage.
For perhaps a mile they moved in this fashion, then Gehari turned into a narrow gully, between two enormous peaks.
So high were the walls on either side that the defile was dark as midnight, and the American was strongly tempted to use his lantern.
“What an ideal spot for an ambush!” Seymour remarked in a whisper.
“That’s so,” returned Haverly in the same low tone; “I’ll be considerable relieved when we’re through.”
Stumbling and tripping over the loose stones which formed the bed of the gully, barking their shins against projecting boulders, the two toiled on after their wolfish leader.
They could but dimly discern the form of the savage in the gloom ahead, and it was only with the greatest difficulty that they managed to keep in touch with him. Had Gehari chosen to have deserted them, nothing would have been easier. But the thought seemed never to enter the savage’s mind, for he flitted on in front, tireless as ever.
Then of a sudden before them loomed a towering wall of rock, apparently blank.
The defile had ended.