He had reached a point where the paths forked again. Supposing he had been fortunate enough to take the right course at the beginning, how could he maintain it?
Swallowing his exasperation, he reflected coolly. The trail to the left was less travelled than the one which kept directly forward. He believed the Ghoojurs had kept to it possibly because there was less danger of pursuit. One fact was self-evident: nothing was to be gained by standing still, while there was a chance of accomplishing something by going on. With scarcely a minute's hesitation he advanced at a rapid stride over the more faintly marked course, peering in advance for a glimpse of his enemies.
Since the latter had not gained much start it would seem that he ought to be close upon them, always provided he was traveling in their actual footsteps. The ground continued rough and broken, but it had no effect on his progress. Something like a shadow whisked across the path in front at the moment of his passing round a turn. Some animal had caught sight of him, and, scared by the vision, had leaped into the jungle at the side. Whether it was a tiger, leopard, cheetah, wild boar or another brute he did not know or care. If it dared to dispute his way he would shoot.
He was pressing forward in this reckless, desperate fashion, when he dropped as if he had collided with a stone wall, and his heart almost ceased its beating. He had caught the faint report of a firearm. It came from a point on his right and sounded as if caused by a revolver, rather than a larger weapon. The thought that came to him was that it was the pistol of Mary Marlowe!
"She is at bay; she may have fired it at herself, and yet I do not think she would do that until some of the bullets had reached the wretches who have captured her. I am following the wrong path, for this one leads me away from her."
Without an instant's hesitation he turned and began his return on a loping trot. He was incensed with himself because of his mistake, and yet there was no reasonable cause for such feeling, but grief is as thoughtless as love, and he was stirred to the very depth of his soul by both. Reaching the last forking, he did not pause, but set out over the main trail.
In front of him towered a mass of rocks higher than any he had yet seen. The path wound about these, but instead of following it, he climbed to the highest part.
"I may gain sight of something from up there," was his thought as he pushed on, "that will be of some help."
And he did see something from the crest which fairly took away his breath.