_ 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.

Quintana, kneeling on one knee, lifted his pistol. He already felt the
slight vibration of the ground on the hard ridge. The cedars were
moving just beyond him now. He waited until, through the parted
foliage, a face appeared.

The loud report of his pistol struck Sard with the horror of paralysis.
Sanchez faced about with one spring, snarling, a weapon in either hand.

In the terrible silence they could hear something heavy floundering in
the bushes, choking, moaning, thudding on the ground.

Sanchez began to creep back; Sard, more dead than alive, crawled at his
heels. Presently they saw Quintana, waist deep in juniper, looking down
at something.

And when they drew closer they saw Georgiades lying on his back under a
cedar, the whole front of his shirt from chest to belly a sopping mess
of blood.

There seemed no need of explanation.