Once more the march was resumed, Gerald leading, Reeves in the centre, and Hugh following in the rear, the line of route being now at right angles to their former direction, and pointing almost straight for the little fort by the ferry.
Presently Hugh, who was growing familiar with the dangerous path, stepped a few inches from the centre. Then, with appalling suddenness, his feet slipped from beneath him. In his efforts to recover his balance his musket flew from his grasp and instantly disappeared from view, and only the strain upon the rope prevented him from sharing the fate of the weapon.
Fortunately Reeves preserved his presence of mind, and, instead of instantly running to the aid of his comrade, he kept the rope taut while he walked towards him. When about three feet off he stopped, and called to Gerald to come up as cautiously as he could.
Meanwhile Hugh was slowly sinking, in spite of the support of the rope. The suction of the sands was terrific. It was impossible for him to struggle. He could only keep as still as was possible, in spite of the agonizing torture of body and mind, trusting to the strength of his friends to haul him out of the treacherous snare.
Bracing themselves for the effort, Reeves and Gerald pulled with all their might. Hugh yelled. It was as if his legs were being torn from their sockets; but he remained anchored to the terrible quicksands.
"Mind you don't fall into the sands on the other side, Gerald, if he should come up with a jerk," cautioned Reeves. "Now, together!"
With a united and mighty heave, Hugh was dragged from a horrible yet certain death, while Gerald, in spite of the warning, wellnigh tumbled backwards when his chum, like a huge fish, was squirming upon the hard ground. So great had been the suction that the leather buskins with which Hugh had been supplied during his stay in Croixilia were wrenched from his feet, while from his thighs downwards the skin was inflamed and bruised in places as if he had been scourged.
In a few minutes he was able to walk, although the pain was intense; and, having resumed their relative positions, the three adventurers proceeded to negotiate the remaining portion of that hazardous pathway.
"We've a choice of boats, I see," said Reeves, as they drew up at the little stone quay. Moored to the wall were three craft, one the ferryboat in which they had crossed on their journey to Croixilia, the others being larger.
"There would be room for three horses quite easily," remarked Gerald, pointing to one of the bigger craft.