give the rope a series of violent jerks, whereupon the Expedition would go to him at once.  He departed, and in two minutes had disappeared among the trees.  I payed out the rope myself, while everybody watched the crawling thing with eager eyes.  The rope crept away quite slowly, at times, at other times with some briskness.  Twice or thrice we seemed to get the signal, and a shout was just ready to break from the men’s lips when they perceived it was a false alarm.  But at last, when over half a mile of rope had slidden away, it stopped gliding and stood absolutely still—­one minute—­two minutes—­three—­while we held our breath and watched.

Was the guide resting?  Was he scanning the country from some high point?  Was he inquiring of a chance mountaineer?  Stop,—­had he fainted from excess of fatigue and anxiety?

This thought gave us a shock.  I was in the very first act of detailing an Expedition to succor him, when the cord was assailed with a series of such frantic jerks that I could hardly keep hold of it.  The huzza that went up, then, was good to hear.  “Saved! saved!” was the word that rang out, all down the long rank of the caravan.

We rose up and started at once.  We found the route to be good enough for a while, but it began to grow difficult, by and by, and this feature steadily increased.  When we judged we had gone half a mile, we momently expected to see the guide; but no, he was not visible anywhere; neither was he waiting, for the rope was still moving, consequently he was doing the same.  This argued that he had not found the road, yet, but was marching to it with some peasant.  There was nothing for us to do but plod along—­and this we did.  At the end of three hours we were still plodding.  This was not only mysterious, but exasperating.  And very fatiguing, too; for we had tried hard, along at first, to catch up with the guide, but had only fagged ourselves, in vain; for although he was traveling slowly he was yet able to go faster than the hampered caravan over such ground.

At three in the afternoon we were nearly dead with exhaustion—­and still the rope was slowly gliding out.  The murmurs against the guide had been growing steadily, and at last they were become loud and savage.  A mutiny ensued.  The men refused to proceed.  They declared that we had been traveling over and over the same ground all day, in a kind of circle.  They demanded that our end of the rope be made fast to a tree, so as to halt the guide until we could overtake him and kill him.  This was not an unreasonable requirement, so I gave the order.

As soon as the rope was tied, the Expedition moved forward with that alacrity which the thirst for vengeance usually inspires.  But after a tiresome march of almost half a mile, we came to a hill covered thick with a crumbly rubbish of stones, and so steep that no man of us all was now in a condition to climb it.  Every attempt failed, and ended in crippling somebody.  Within twenty minutes I had five men on crutches.  Whenever a climber tried to assist himself by the rope, it yielded and let him tumble backward.  The frequency of this result suggested an idea to me.  I ordered the caravan to ’bout face and form in marching order; I then made the tow-rope fast to the rear mule, and gave the command: