Their progress was slow towards the far end of the amphitheatre, but every score of yards was something gained, and all worked eagerly till at last the lower end of the amphitheatre was reached, where the rocks closed in again and a small ravine was before them, whose bottom was the bed of a mountain torrent along which a shallow stream hurried, hardly above the soles of the adventurers’ sandals, though the smooth rocks of the bed and sides showed plainly enough that there were times when a furious flood dashed along, laden with smaller stones and gravel, whose effects were to polish the bigger rocks in their way.
“Better not talk,” growled Serge, as they began to make quicker progress. “I don’t suppose anyone is here; they’ll all have gone to the front; but you never know, and every bad word is picked up by the rocks and sent flying far away till it drops plump into somebody’s ear. Steady’s the word, boy. Keep your little chap still. I don’t suppose this bit of a streamlet keeps like this. I expect the narrow bed opens out soon, for the hills seem to grow smaller and smaller here, and I am hoping that we shall come upon level ground so that we may get a gallop to stretch the ponies’ legs.”
“Ah, I hope so,” cried Marcus, eagerly. “Now you are beginning to talk, Serge, like a man.”
“And that means, boy, that I was talking a bit ago like some old woman, I suppose. Well, part of a soldier’s duty is to take care. Steady you, sir, and don’t splash the water up like that,” the old soldier continued softly to the pony whose head he held. “It’s all very nice for you, and I dare say the water feels nice and pleasant to your hoofs; but keep quiet. You don’t have to polish the rust off your armour—I do. I wish to goodness we could get on good dry ground.”
Like the rest of mountain torrents, the one whose bed they were following zig-zagged in all directions, so that even from their old point of vantage they had been able to see but a very little way along, and were quite content with the knowledge that the rocks rose up some fifteen or twenty feet above their heads, amply sufficient to shelter them from the sight of the enemy who lay away on either side, while now as they journeyed along the rocky bed, with the rattle of the wheels multiplied by the echoes, nothing was visible a hundred yards ahead, and as fast as one angle was turned there lay another a short distance in front.
But they were descending towards the plains; the plashing stream as it hurried along taught them that, and at the end of about a quarter of a mile of little interrupted progress they were cheered on by the fact that the rocks on either side grew lower, rapidly ceasing to afford them protection, and before long hardly rising to their shoulders.
There was another turn, and then another, and then Marcus cried eagerly:
“The hills are seeming to get farther away, Serge, and we must soon be out in the plain. I wonder what’s beyond that turning.”
“Open ground, I should say, my lad,” said the old soldier, gravely; “but we must take care. We want the open ground for the horses, but not for ourselves.”
“I don’t understand you,” cried Marcus, sharply.