"For God's sake, be a little careful of your gun——"
"I am, my dear frien'. It is of you I may become careless. You will mo' kin'ly face south, and you will be kin' sufficient to start immediate. Tha's what I mean. … I thank you. … Now, my frien', Sanchez! Tha's correc'! You shall follow my frien' Sard ver' close. Me, I march in the rear. So we shall pass to the eas' of thees Star Pon', then between the cross-road an' Ghos' Lake; an' then we shall repose; an' one of us, en vidette, shall discover if the Constabulary have patrol beyon'. … Allons! March!"
* * * * *
II
Guided by Quintana's directions, the three had made a wide detour of the east, steering by compass for the cross-roads beyond Star Pond.
In a dense growth of cedars, on a little ridge traversing wet land,
Quintana halted to listen.
Sard and Sanchez, supposing him to be at their heels, continued on, pushing their way blindly through the cedars, clinging to the hard ridge in terror of sink-holes. But their progress was very slow; and they were still in sight, fighting a painful path amid the evergreens, when Quintana suddenly squatted close to the moist earth behind a juniper bush.
At first, except for the threshing of Sard and Sanchez through the massed obstructions ahead, there was not a sound in the woods.
After a little while there was a sound — very, very slight. No dry stick cracked; no dry leaves rustled; no swish of foliage; no whipping sound of branches disturbed the intense silence.
But, presently, came a soft, swift rhythm like the pace of a forest creature in haste — a discreetly hurrying tread which was more a series of light earth-shocks than sound.