Fifty miles of hard riding brought the party to the trocha; they
neared it on the second morning after leaving Cubitas, and sought
a secluded camping-spot. Later in the day Hilario, the old
Camagueyan, slipped away to reconnoiter. He returned at twilight,
but volunteered no report of what he had discovered. After an
insistent cross-examination O'Reilly wrung from him the reluctant
admission that everything seemed favorable for a crossing some
time that night, and that he had selected a promising point.
Beyond that the old man would say nothing. Johnnie asked himself
uneasily if this reticence was not really due to apprehension
rather than to sullenness. Whatever the cause, it was not
particularly reassuring, and as evening came on Johnnie found
himself growing decidedly nervous.
Supper, a simple meal, was quickly disposed of. Then followed a
long, dispiriting wait, for a gibbous moon rode high in the sky
and the guides refused to stir so long as it remained there. It
was a still night; in the jungle no air was stirring, and darkness
brought forth a torment of mosquitoes. As day died, the woods
awoke to sounds of bird and insect life; strange, raucous calls
pealed forth, some familiar, others strange and unaccustomed.
There were thin whistlings, hoarse grunts and harsh cacklings,
high-pitched elfin laughter.
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