The brigands were either in their camp or standing round the
beacon, for none of them stopped or questioned our little party.
De Pombal led them in the direction of the precipice. At the
brow we were out of sight, and there I was allowed to use my feet
once more. De Pombal pointed to a narrow, winding track.
"This is the way down," said he, and then, suddenly,
"Dios mio, what is that?"
A terrible cry had risen out of the woods beneath us.
I saw that de Pombal was shivering like a frightened horse.
"It is that devil," he whispered. "He is treating another as he
treated me. But on, on, for Heaven help us if he lays his hands
upon us."
One by one we crawled down the narrow goat track.
At the bottom of the cliff we were back in the woods once more.
Suddenly a yellow glare shone above us, and the black shadows of
the tree-trunks started out in front.
They had fired the beacon behind us. Even from where we stood we
could see that impassive body amid the flames, and the black
figures of the guerillas as they danced, howling like cannibals,
round the pile.
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