He held his gun ready for bringing up on the slightest provocative sign, and seemed rather to enjoy the game of checkmating the Count’s amiable moves. The ascending path now became too narrow to allow of their walking abreast. Zarka stopped and motioned his companion to precede him.
“No, Count,” D’Alquen said; “I follow you.”
His tone was so decisive that Zarka evidently saw the uselessness of pressing the matter. “I shall have the honour of showing you the way,” he said, covering his discomfiture with the politest of grins.
So they wound their way up till the open mountain plateaus were reached. Zarka now halted and turned with an affectation of breathlessness.
“We should soon get a sight of some game here,” he observed. “We can now go forward together, at least as far as the rocks yonder.”
He pointed, as he spoke, to the base of some high peaks which shut in the plateau.
“I have had fine sport here with ibex and chamois,” he remarked, as they walked on side by side, D’Alquen ever on the alert, and amusingly distrustful of his urbane and voluble companion. “Two guns should, however, have a better chance than one, since between us, up yonder, we can cut off the animals’ escape. It has been usually my lot to hunt here alone, and many a good stag have I lost through not having a comrade to get a second shot on the retreat.”
The situation was certainly growing in grim interest; either D’Alquen’s nerves were abnormally strong, or he held the lord of Rozsnyo cheaper than that potentate was wont to value himself. What would the next move be? For certainly the stranger had been brought up there for a purpose not altogether connected with the slaying of ibex. Very soon the manœuvring for the plan, whatever it might be, began. They had warily crossed the plateau and readied another narrow path running round the base of the rocky peaks. There was no hesitation now about precedence. “May I show you? Yes?” Zarka grinned and sprang up the path. D’Alquen kept his gun handy and followed. There was an equally curious, though less sinister, smile on his face.
The Count led the way through a narrow passage formed by a cleft in the rocks. The path was rough and steep, but both men made light of its difficulties. Suddenly they passed out on to the side of a broad mountain gorge, high up on which the path still ran, having on the one hand a wall of rock, on the other sheer precipice. A gleam of grim intelligence sprang into D’Alquen’s eyes as he took in the situation. When they had gone on perhaps a hundred paces, Zarka held up his hand, halted and turned. D’Alquen had stopped too, evidently ready for eventualities. But the Count’s intentions seemed all for sport.
“Round the next shoulder,” he said in a low voice, as he pointed forwards, “we shall probably come upon ibex. I propose that one of us should go forward while the other stays here, for the first shot will probably send the rest of them back along the opposite side, yonder, of the chasm. So there will be a chance of two fine running shots. Now, will you go forward, or shall I?”