Of course I could not let him do that; so turning it off with a laugh, I cried,—
"No, thank you. I'm not going to trust my life to your hands, or rather feet. Now, follow me closely. Walk just where I do, and if you see me disappearing, pull me back sharp. We're on the track now, and must try to keep on."
"Spoken with the wisdom of a sage!" said Alzura saucily. "I say, Juan, how shall I know when you're moving?"
There was certainly reason for his sarcasm. As often as not, when I raised my foot I brought it down in the same place again, or, according to Alzura, even went a step backward. The night was not particularly dark—indeed, we had doubted whether it was dark enough for us to swim ashore unobserved—but the marsh was fearfully deceptive.
In places the track was merely a dry hump here and there, for which I had to feel with the staff. Twice, in spite of every precaution, I missed my footing, and the second time had sunk to the waist before Alzura could pull me out.
"I can't see you very well, Juan," said he, laughing, "but I have an idea that you would cut a fine figure in a ballroom just now."
"Especially if it were a fancy-dress affair," I replied in the same tone.
We were in no merry humour, mind you; but the weakest joke was better than dwelling on the horrors which surrounded us. Each of us knew that, but for Alzura's quickness, I should have disappeared for ever, leaving no trace behind me. Twice before the break of day I had saved him from a similar fate.
We left the islet about ten o'clock, and at midnight were still in the morass, unable to move. Alzura had joined me on a piece of firm ground, just large enough for us to stand on, and no more. It was darker now, so that we could see nothing clearly, while I failed to touch any solid substance, except that behind us, with my pole. Alzura's attempts were equally unsuccessful.
"You're a pretty guide!" said he. "You've got off the track; we had better try back. Give me the staff."