"What is it?" asked José, in an excited whisper; "what is wrong?"
We could not see the fellow's face, but he seemed very agitated, and there was a break in his voice as he answered,—
"I don't know—I am not sure—but I can't be certain that we are on the right track."
The words sounded like a sentence of death, and I could hardly repress a cry of horror.
"Be still!" whispered José; "the men must not know. Stay here a minute while I ask the colonel to halt. That will give us a little breathing-space."
He was soon back, and taking the guide's arm, he exclaimed,—
"Now come, get your wits about you, and let us see what can be done. Where do you think we ought to be?"
"I don't know," replied the guide helplessly. "The saints preserve us, or we are lost!"
"Now look here," said José sternly: "you are giving way, and that won't do. Pluck up your courage, man, and remember that all our lives are in your hands."
I think, perhaps, this awful responsibility had much to do with breaking the guide down. He wrung his hands and groaned, saying aloud that he had brought us to death.