I waited a long time before I dared begin my slow and rather painful crawl. I had to lift my knee quite off the ground at each advance, because the roll of a pebble would have been suicidal. I passed the steps at last. They marked the end of the sentinel’s beat. I waited for him to turn before I moved again. Before he returned I had taken four steps. He was above me, and just four steps behind, when, careful as I had been, I struck a loose stone with my knee, and sent it rolling a yard or two across the path. The sentinel turned suddenly. I heard him. I jumped to my feet, and ran. Three shots sounded, but I did not stop. A moment later John was beside me. We wasted no breath talking, but ran on desperately until he stumbled and fell. He tripped me as he went down, and we lay for a second, listening for our pursuers. There was no sound. We had left the path and were no longer on the edge of the cliff, though still on a side hill, but overhead trees arched so that we could not see the stars. We were in a forest, which meant that we had come quite far down the mountain, and were in a valley, for on the exposed upper slopes there were no trees. We must have run a mile at least.
“There’s no one after us,” John said.
“What does that mean, do you suppose?”
“Either that we lost the way in the darkness or that they can’t be bothered with catching us. What I think is that if we find our way to the high road we’ll walk into more of the gang, and if we are lost in the mountains, as we may be, we don’t count. I was lost in quite civilised woods in northern Connecticut once, for a day and a night. This may not be funny before we’re through. There won’t be any friendly neighbors to come out looking for us. That get-away was too easy.”
“Don’t be so gloomy,” I said, “being lost is probably our only hope of getting away. We can steer south-west by the stars.”
“That’s all very well to suggest,” John said, “but there is a lot of rough going around here, and while we twist north and east and all the ways between to get around gullies and boulders, who is going to tell us we are really going south-west? I tried that steering by the stars business in Connecticut and it’ll be the same sort of thing here only worse.”
“You think we should try to find the high road, then?” I asked.
“No,” he said, “I don’t think it’s going to matter much what we try to find. It’s going to be entirely a matter of luck—good luck or bad luck. What I chiefly hope is that there aren’t any more Fakat Zols working on their own around here.”
I told him I thought that very unlikely, because one strong bandit would clean up all the little ones in short order, and he agreed. “Let’s just keep on down this slope,” he said. “At least it’s down hill, and south. We’ll undoubtedly have to climb up again before we’re through, and twist around a lot, but we may come out.”
It was a nightmare journey. At every slightest sound we stopped to listen. The hillside was smooth enough so that in spite of the darkness we had little difficulty keeping on it, but there were a thousand noises in the night that brought us up short to listen again.