Terry was watching through the open window and when he saw his men emerge from the shack he rose apologetically, listening attentively while Sears told him the best trail to the three abandoned shacks that Terry sought. Sears, distressed in the helpless way of physically big men, detained him while he refilled his canteen with fresh water and sought Terry's habits long enough to again try to press a Scotch upon him. "Sears, that aspirin fixed me up. I wish you would give me a couple more of those tablets." Further search proved fruitless, he had no more. He turned to Terry with a sorrow out of all proportion to the situation. "Lieutenant, I haven't got any more. But here's some quinine--take a few grains every few hours--it may help you." Terry thrust the vial of capsules into his shirt pocket and after thanking Sears hastened outside to where his men were tightening girths under the watchful Sergeant's eye. Sears hovered over Terry, offering advice, expostulating, as Terry mounted and gathered rein. "Lieutenant," he said, "you know the ford is just above the pool they call the 'Crocodile Hole.' Cross the ford, come back along the bank, and you'll find a trail leadin' to the three shacks in the woods." "I know, Sears. Thanks. Good-by." "_Adios_," Sears called. Then he stood watching the little band trot through the gate and into the woods. His eyes moistened, he raised his big fist against an invisible foe. "If they get him--" he muttered through lips that trembled unashamed, "if they get that boy--that sick boy, I'll--I'll--we'll ... and I didn't have any medicine for him--the only thing he ever asked me for--or ever asked anybody for!" * * * * * For the first time Terry urged the gray. Matak over two hours ahead of him and mounted on the next best pony in the Gulf ... Malabanan hours ahead of Matak, riding toward the Ledesma girl held for him in one of the three shacks.... He pushed the pony hard across the open clearings, recklessly forced him through the underbrush that in frequent areas obliterated the trail. They were now well inland and mounting a perceptible grade toward the foothills: the sluggish stream they had paralleled all day ran swift here. Once, where the trail twisted near the bank, they heard the rush of rapids, and a mile farther on they came in sight of a curiously soundless waterfull. They had reached the Bogobo country but the afternoon quiet was unbroken by the sound of agongs. Fear had reached the foothills.