As he did so he caught the sound of the twang of a bowstring, followed by a stifled cry and a fall, then came a loud yell, checked almost before it was uttered. But the alarm had been given, and loud shouts rose from several throats. He ran, as directed, some fifty yards behind the huts, and then turned and struck off across the open towards the tree. No sooner had he done so than he felt the justice of what the Indian had said. His feet seemed heavy and his joints stiff, and it needed an effort to maintain the speed at which he started, until he stopped at the tree, panting and trembling from head to foot. He had been conscious while he ran of a great uproar in the village, but his whole mind was centred on his efforts, and it was not until he paused that he heard the full volume of the outcry. A hundred voices were shouting, dogs were barking, and the women’s cries could be heard in the uproar. Far away to the left he heard occasional shouts, and it was in this direction that the men of the village were evidently running. The two Indians had no doubt led the chase in the opposite direction to that which he had taken. Stephen was wondering how far they would go before turning, when, almost noiselessly, the two men ran up to the tree. “We have shaken them off,” Hurka said; “there were but two who followed closely enough to keep us in sight, and our arrows soon stopped them. Now let us go.” Pita led the way, Hurka followed him, placing as he did so one end of his bow in Stephen’s hand, saying, “Our eyes are more accustomed to the dark than yours. Keep hold of the bow and follow me closely.” As soon as they were well in the forest the darkness was to Stephen absolute, and had it not been for the bow he could not have followed the little Indian, although treading almost on his heels. He appreciated more strongly than he had ever done before how much keener were the faculties of the Indians in some respects than his own, for they went along at a brisk rate, making their way through the trees with as little hesitation as if it had been broad daylight. Occasionally there was a pause for an instant as Pita slashed through a creeper barring his way. “How can he see them?” Stephen asked. “He does not see them, señor, he feels them. He holds his bow at arm’s-length before him, and so touches even the smallest of the lianas; the large ones he can see plainly enough, and so could he the small ones were they level with the eye. It is those that are but a foot or two above the ground that are dangerous.” “It is marvellous to me how you can see anything, Hurka, for I cannot make out even the outline of your figure.” “We were born so, señor. Life in these forests accustoms the eyes to see in darkness. It is the same with the wild animals that run at night.” It was not long before Stephen’s breath began to come in short gasps. The perspiration streamed from him, but he held on until Pita came to a halt.