The camp seemed a haven of refuge after the experiences of the last half-hour, and the girls sank down thankfully on their straw bed, while Maurice seated himself on a stone at the door, and tried to make conversation and distract their minds, not very successfully. Stoyan succeeded where Maurice failed, however, for he made his appearance suddenly, and saying something in his own language, threw down a pair of leggings and moccasins before him, and held out his hand.
“He says I’m to put these on, and give him my boots,” explained Maurice ruefully. “I’m afraid Wylie has let us in for it. He says, ‘No sleep to-night, thanks to your friend.’”
“I suppose we had better pack up,” said Zoe, as the chief retired with the boots.
“How I admire your common-sense, Zoe!” said Eirene, not offering to move. “Why don’t you rest as long as you can, like me?”
“Because she knows you would look pretty blue if there were no coats and things at the next halting-place,” said Maurice. “Come, get up. You can luxuriate in the straw as long as they’ll let you, but we must roll up the rugs.”
The rugs, wrapped round the scanty possessions of the party, were Maurice’s burden, while the girls carried the coats, rolled up as Wylie had shown them, so as to leave their arms free. But when they were summoned to start, about an hour before sunset, the brigands made them unfold the coats and put them on, drawing the hoods over their heads, so that they could not be recognised from a distance. They felt some surprise at starting in daylight, but the reason was soon evident. They were to climb down the torrent-bed, up which they had come to reach the valley, and not even the brigands cared to risk the descent in the dark. Scouts had been sent to follow Wylie and the Roumi force, and make sure that they were not returning, and these brought word that the troops had taken up their quarters in a village for the night, so that the move might safely be made. Going down the torrent-bed was rather worse than going up, so far as slips and tumbles and sudden sousings went, and the girls were bruised and drenched when they reached the bottom. They were only allowed a moment to wring their dripping skirts, and then the brigands set out briskly in the dusk, taking the direction in which Wylie had gone. They knew the rocky paths, and how to take advantage of the smoothest places, but to the prisoners, unused to walking in moccasins, every step was a lottery, which might prove painless, but was far more likely to be agonising. Even when a rare stretch of comparatively soft ground appeared, they were not allowed to take advantage of it, the brigands casting about carefully until they found a way past it on the rocks, lest any trail should remain to show that a number of people had passed there after the soldiers. Darkness came on, and the prisoners stumbled painfully along between their guards, who never stretched out a hand to help them, but reviled them horribly when they slipped. Regardless of dignity, the girls were reduced at last to clutching the sleeves of the men on each side of them—more the brigands would not permit, for fear of finding their arms encumbered in case of danger—and even Eirene made no protest. After what seemed weary hours of walking, the brigands suddenly stopped and closed round the prisoners, two of the band stealing off into the darkness.
“We are going right through the village,” whispered Maurice. “Those fellows are off to quiet the dogs.”
“And if you raise exclamation, we quiet you,” muttered Milosch, unsheathing his long dagger.
It was some time before the two men returned, with the assurance that all was well. The troops were comfortably quartered in the houses and cattle-sheds, and they had located the watch-fires and the sentries, and could guide the rest past them. Wylie and the Roumi officer were at the house of the chief man of the place, and Stoyan breathed a vehement and highly coloured aspiration that it had been prudent to creep in and make an end of them. But as this was impossible if the prisoners were to be placed in safe keeping, he repressed his bloodthirsty inclinations, and the scouts led the party in and out among huts and sheds, sometimes creeping on all-fours across a space dimly illuminated by a watch-fire, sometimes pausing behind a wall while a sentry passed. Every man among the brigands held his dagger unsheathed, ready to strike if any of the prisoners made the slightest attempt to raise an alarm, and the precaution was sufficient. Warmth, shelter, safety, friends, were in the village, and with bursting hearts the girls passed them by, and went on again into the dark cold night. They were so tired by this time that their immediate guards were forced to sheathe their daggers and take each of them by the elbows to help her on, and as if to crown their misfortunes, a cold, drenching rain began to fall. It put the finishing touch also to the brigands’ ill-humour, and they pushed and dragged their shivering captives roughly along, muttering angrily at every step.
“Maurice, tell them we can’t go any faster!” cried Zoe at last. “We are keeping up with them on these awful roads, and we can’t do more.”