Reginald Wright Kauffman

“ CHAPTER XIX THE VAGABOND. THE trail had opened upon a small, natural clearing in the jungle's heart. It was walled by sour-orange trees and giant ferns. Ropes of vines hung, snakelike, from surrounding boughs. No spot could have seemed less usually frequented by humankind. The heavy carpet of moss muffled the sound of the traveler's progress, and no other sound reached Dan's atentive ears.
“Listen!” repeated Luis. He drew in his horse.
Gertrude's mount and Stone's stopped still. To the American the perfect silence seemed continuous. ”

“ Dan thought so, but before Stone could speak the newcomer demanded:
“What's all this? A joy ride?”
“It's no joke,” said Dan, “and we haven't got a minute to spare. If you were looking for me—well, I'm here, and it won't be you I'll run away from.” He spoke rapidly. “Turn around. Put a hand on my bridle if you like. We've got to hurry. If you'll walk as fast as you can beside me, I'll tell you all about it. We're sure to be followed soon. You,” he broke out, “you must help—and you will if you're a good American.” ”

“ But again Luis interrupted, and again it was with a command to listen that he did so. He reached from his saddle and touched Dan's arm.
“Hush!”
This time it came from behind them, from that stretch of the trail over which they had just passed, and this time it was immediately unmistakable. Nothing afoot. Mounted men—mounted men advancing as rapidly as the jungle track allowed. It was the pursuit at last.
“There they are!” said Dan. ”