“Afore I gives you these,” he began, “I wants to remind yer of the little talk we had t’ other night. Each man of yer gits fifty cartridges and with them either he makes Bogova er Hell. There ain’t no other stoppin’ places. Ye may have thought, some of ye, that once yer rifles was loaded ye could do ’bout as ye pleased. But t’ain’t so. Jus’ behin’ you there’ll march one hundred men from the hills. They don’t know much, but they obey orders, an’ their orders is to shoot anybody what ain’t goin’ our way. Ye’ve got a chance, marchin’ straight on an’ takin’ the city; ye ain’t gut the ghost of a chance, if ye don’t take the city er if ye fergits the way and starts back towards the ship. ’Nother thing; hold tergether. It ain’t pleasant fer a man caught by hisself in Bogova. Thet’s all, gents, an’ I hopes it will be my pleasant duty to hand ye soon a five-dollar gold piece fer everyone of these here things I now hands ye.”
Wilson suppressed a shout, and soon there was the confused clicking of the locks as they closed over the full chambers of the rifles. It was music to the ears of Danbury, who from the moment his feet had touched shore was impatient to take the road without further delay. Wilson was just as bad, if not worse, 179 which left Stubbs really the only man of them all able to think calmly and somewhat rationally.
He formed the men into columns of two, hastily inspected each one of them, and finally got them started with Danbury and the guide leading, Wilson, on the right side, and himself on the left and well to the rear where he could watch for possible desertions until the hill men took their place behind them. It was a new world for them all; the strange tropical foliage silhouetted against the vivid night sky, the piercing perfume of new flowers, and the shadow jungle either side made it seem almost unreal. At the junction of this forest path and the main road the hill men fell in behind like ghosts. They were brown, medium-sized men, dressed in cotton trousers and blouses. They were without shoes or hats and were armed with a medley of weapons, from modern rifles to the big, two-edged sword with which their ancestors fought. Save under the leadership of the priest, they were said not to be good fighters, but with him to spur them on they became veritable demons, hurling themselves upon the enemy with a recklessness only possible to religious fanatics. So fiercely had they resisted the attack made upon them in the expedition of the hills that it was said that not within ten years would it be possible to organize again sufficient men with courage to venture to cross the Andes.
The road turned and twisted, wandered up hill and down, beckoning them on through this phantasmal world which but for them would have slept on in 180 aromatic peace. To Wilson this all seemed part of a dream. It was one of those strange visions he had seen between the stars that night after the crash when he had gazed from his study window. Somehow it did not seem to belong in his life at all. The girl did, but nothing else did. It was meant for him to have her, but in the usual ruts of men.
This was some other self which, with holsters and cartridge belt, was marching in the dark with this group of uncouth men. The only thing that made it real was the fact that he was moving towards her. Once he had found her he would go back again and seek his place in the vast machine which weaved cloths of more sober fabric. Then he thought of the map which he had taken from the chest and put into his pocket. That, too, was a part of this dream. It was fitting that in such an atmosphere as this there should be hidden gold and jewels; fitting, too, that this new self of his should be in search of them. But if only he could reach her, if only he could have her fairly within his arms, he would give this up to others who had more need of it. She had said that if ever she were in need of him, she would call and he would come to her. That seemed like an idle phrase at the time, and yet it had come true. She had called and he was now on his way to give her aid. He could not imagine her in the dungeon.
At the end of two hours, a rifle shot spat through the dark branches by the roadside. Then silence––a silence so unbroken that it seemed in a minute as 181 though the noise had never been. Then Otaballo rode up at a gallop and gave a few orders. His men, who led the forces, divided silently and disappeared each side of the road into the dark timber. Then for another half hour the remainder of the men marched on as before. The sky began to brighten in the east. A grayish pink stole from the horizon line and grew ever brighter and brighter as though a breeze were blowing into the embers of an ash-covered fire. The pink grew to crimson and with it the shadows sought their deeper haunts. As the first real beams of the sun shot above the distant hills the angular jumble of distant roof-tops became silhouetted against the clear, blue sky.
A messenger came galloping down the road with orders for Danbury.
“You are to enter by the East Road. Follow your guide.”
The sputtering report of distant rifles came to their ears.
“But, see here,” protested Danbury, “the fighting is straight ahead.”