I kin tell ye I'm precious tired toatin this burden
at my back, beauty though she be; an' by remainin' heer I'll get the
sooner relieved. When Cap' comes he'll be wantin' to take her off my
hands; to the which I'll make him welcome as the flowers o' May."

With his poetical wind-up, the reluctant robber sets his horse in
motion, and leads on. Not far along the main road. When a few yards
from the ford, he faces towards a trail on his left, which under the
shadow is with difficulty discernible. For all this, he strikes into it
with the confidence of one well acquainted with the way.

Along it they advance between thick standing trees, the path arcaded
over by leafy branches appearing as dark as a tunnel. As the horses
move on, the boughs, bent forward by their breasts, swish back in
rebound, striking against the legs of their riders; while higher up the
hanging _llianas_, many of them beset with spines, threaten to tear the
skin from their faces.

Fortunately for the captives, theirs are protected by the close-woven
serapes. Though little care they now: thorns lacerating their cheeks
were but trivial pain, compared to the torture in their souls. They
utter no complaint, neither speaking a word. Despair has stricken them
dumb; for, moving along that darksome path, they feel as martyrs being
conducted to stake or scaffold.

CHAPTER FIFTY NINE.

A FOILED AMBUSCADE.

Almost at the same instant the double-mounted steeds are turning off the
main road, Woodley and those with him enter upon it; only at a point
further away from the ford.

Delayed, first in considering what should be done with Harkness, and
afterwards by the necessity of going slowly, as well as noiselessly
along the narrow trace, they have arrived upon the road's edge just in
time to be too late.

As yet they are not aware of this, though Woodley has his apprehensions;
these becoming convictions, after he has stood for a time listening, and
hears no sound, save that of the water, which comes in hoarse hiss
between the trees, almost deafening the ear. For at this point the
stream, shallowing, runs in rapid current over a pebbly bed, here and
there breaking into crests.

Woodley's fear has been, that before he and his companions reach the
road, the Indians might get past. If so, the chances of taking them
will be diminished perhaps gone altogether. For, on horseback, they
would have an advantage over those following afoot; and their cap