As we reached the summit of a range of hills, I could see in the distance a long, dark line of forests. My guide, who had pushed on ahead, in search of water, came galloping wildly back.
I paid no particular attention to him, until I noticed that he had dismounted in great haste and was running towards me.
“Turn back! turn back! little master!” he exclaimed, throwing himself at my feet, and clasping my legs with his arms!
“Enter not in the Palin-mâ-Talin! (Home of Darkness.) A hundred pilgrims have laid their bones in the moss-grown depths of the Great Gloomy Forest! It is as pathless as the ocean! It is as silent as death. It is as limitless as the heavens! Nor man nor beast can breathe its cool, moist air, and live! Turn back! I beseech thee, little baron; tempt not the Palin-mâ-Talin!”
“Palin-mâ-Talin! Palin-mâ-Talin!” I repeated, as if awakening from a dream, “why, it must be—ay, there can be no doubt of it—the Great Aryan Forest, in which, countless centuries ago, the human race having abandoned their holes in the clay banks, first learned to hunt the wild beast, feed on his flesh and clothe themselves in his skins.”
In my joy at this discovery I threw a handful of gold pieces into the lap of my astonished guide.
Bulger, always ready to share my happiness, came bounding to my side, barking loud and shrill. To my infinite surprise, the answering bark of a dog came floating on the morning breeze.
“Hark!” I exclaimed, in a whisper. This time it was unmistakable.
“’Tis one of Benè-agâ’s dogs!” was my guide’s reply. “Come, little master, let me lead thee to his cave. It is beneath the very shadow of the Great Gloomy Forest. He can tell thee of its dangers, for he hath crossed it!”
“And come safely back?” I asked.