“Look, look!” whispered Cyril.
“I am,” said John Manning, for all at once a couple more of the Indians suddenly appeared from out of the mist, in whom they recognised Diego and his fellow-guide, the former holding something in his hand which he was showing to all in turn with a great deal of gesticulation, accompanied by eager pointings down into the depths below the fall, and back through the mist.
“What’s he got there?” whispered John Manning. “Something to eat? He wants them to go back.”
“I know,” said Cyril so loudly that his companion caught his arm. “It’s Perry’s cap.”
“What!” cried the old soldier. “I know how it is. They’ve found it somewhere down the stream, where it had been washed, and he’s saying that we must all have tumbled in there and been swept away.”
This appeared to be a very likely interpretation, for, with a great display of eagerness, the men hurried back through the mist till all were gone.
“Let’s make haste on and overtake them,” said Cyril eagerly. “I want to ask Perry where he left his cap.”
“And he’ll tell you, sir, that he didn’t leave it anywhere, but had it took away by the water.”
“Are they in sight?” said the colonel, bending down over them. “You were quite right. This is an excellent place to keep them back. Yes,” he continued, on hearing the surmises of the two watchers, “that must be it, and they have gone back to follow the stream.”
He led the way again, and they followed to where Perry was anxiously looking back, as the mules steadily went on higher and higher up the gloomy gorge, where the great stream was hurrying and foaming along toward where it would make its plunge; while the thunderous roar of the fall was rapidly dying away, shut out, as it now was, by curve after curve of the valley.