"who understands the girls nowadays?"

CHAPTER XLV

The Hunted

In the dim light shed by the moonbeams sifting through the thick
foliage a man wandered through the forest with slow and cautious
steps. From time to time, as if to find his way, he whistled a peculiar
melody, which was answered in the distance by some one whistling the
same air. The man would listen attentively and then make his way in
the direction of the distant sound, until at length, after overcoming
the thousand obstacles offered by the virgin forest in the night-time,
he reached a small open space, which was bathed in the light of the
moon in its first quarter. The high, tree-crowned rocks that rose
about formed a kind of ruined amphitheater, in the center of which
were scattered recently felled trees and charred logs among boulders
covered with nature's mantle of verdure.

Scarcely had the unknown arrived when another figure started suddenly
from behind a large rock and advanced with drawn revolver. "Who are
you?" he asked in Tagalog in an imperious tone, cocking the weapon.

"Is old Pablo among you?" inquired the unknown in an even tone,
without answering the question or showing any signs of fear.

"You mean the capitan? Yes, he's here."

"Then tell him that Elias is here looking for him," was the answer
of the unknown, who was no other than the mysterious pilot.

"Are you Elias?" asked the other respectfully, as he approached him,
not, however, ceasing to cover him with the revolver. "Then come!"

Elias followed him, and they penetrated into a kind of cave sunk
down in the depths of the earth. The guide, who seemed to be familiar
with the way, warned the pilot when he should descend or turn aside
or stoop down, so they were not long in reaching a kind of hall
which was poorly lighted by pitch torches and occupied by twelve to
fifteen armed men with dirty faces and soiled clothing, some seated
and some lying down as they talked fitfully to one another. Resting
his arms on a stone that served for a table and gazing thoughtfully
at the torches, which gave out so little light for so much smoke,
was seen an old, sad-featured man with his head wrapped in a bloody
bandage. Did we not know that it was a den of tulisanes we might have
said, on reading the look of desperation in the old man's face, that
it was the Tower of Hunger on the eve before Ugolino devoured his sons.

Upon the arrival of Elias and his guide the figures partly rose,