“Hadn’t you better be friends for life?” asked Maurice.
“And lose my honour, excellence?” said Leka. “No; I would sooner drown myself in this swamp.”
The Albanians laid the track over the last stretch with wonderful speed, and in a few minutes the car and the whole party touched terra firma. The pursuers were still firing, but without effect. Some of Giulika’s party paused to return the shots, but their marksmanship was no better than their opponents’, and Giulika presently ordered them to desist.
By this time Slavianski had recognised the hopelessness of further shooting. Mounting his horse again, he rode for a few yards into the swamp, as if to test the possibility of direct pursuit, but he halted when the animal’s legs had disappeared almost to the knees, and returned to the shore. In a few moments his party were in their saddles, and started at a gallop to make the circuit of the swamp.
“Really, his perseverance deserves to be rewarded,” remarked Maurice, as he mounted to his place beside George in the car.
Chapter XIII
A LANDSLIP IN THE HILLS
On the eastern side of the swamp the ground rose so gradually that it was possible, for the first time since the escape from the kula, to start the engine. The car’s easy motion surprised and delighted the Albanians, who ran along beside it with cries of admiration. Giulika himself, old as he was, kept as good a pace as the younger men, and when Maurice invited him to enter the car he declined.
“Never in my life have I been carried by anything but a horse,” he said, “and I am too old to try new things. Nothing but a horse shall carry me until I am borne to my grave.”
After a time the path again became steep and rough, and the pace had to be moderated.