However that may be, we had almost entirely recovered our strength.  Indeed, Harry declared himself perfectly fit; but I still felt some discomfort, caused partly by the knife-wound on my knee, which had not entirely healed, and partly, I think, by the strangeness and monotony of our diet.  Harry’s palate was less particular.

On awaking, and after breaking our fast, we were both filled with an odd contentment.  I really believe that we had abandoned hope, and that the basis of our listlessness was despair; and surely not without reason.  For what chance had we to escape from the Incas, handicapped as we were by the darkness, and our want of weapons, and their overwhelming numbers?

And beyond that—­if by some lucky chance we did escape—­what remained?  To wander about in the endless caves of darkness and starve to death.  At the time I don’t think I stated the case, even to myself, with such brutal frankness, but facts make their impression whether you invite them or not.  But, as I say, we were filled with an odd contentment.  Though despair may have possessed our hearts, it was certainly not allowed to infect our tongues.

Breakfast was hilarious.  Harry sang an old drinking-song to the water-basin with touching sentiment; I gave him hearty applause and joined in the chorus.  The cavern rang.

“The last time I sang that,” said Harry as the last echoes died away, “was at the Midlothian.  Bunk Stafford was there, and Billy Du Mont, and Fred Marston—­I say, do you remember Freddie?  And his East Side crocodiles?

“My, but weren’t they daisies?  And polo?  They could play it in their sleep.  And—­what’s this?  Paul!  Something’s up!  Here they come—­Mr. and Mrs. Inca and all the children!”

I sprang hastily to my feet and stood by Harry’s side.  He was right.

Through the half darkness they came, hundreds of them, and, as always, in utter silence.  Dimly we could see their forms huddled together round us on every side, leaving us in the center of a small circle in their midst.

“Now, what the deuce do they want?” I muttered.  “Can’t they let us eat in peace?”

Harry observed:  “Wasn’t I right?  ‘Most awful vile!’”

I think we both felt that we were joking in the face of death.

The forms surrounding us stood silent for perhaps ten seconds.  Then four of their number stepped forward to us, and one made gestures with a hairy arm, pointing to our rear.  We turned and saw a narrow lane lined on either side by our captors.  Nothing was distinct; still we could see well enough to guess their meaning.

“It’s up to us to march,” said Harry.

I nodded.

“And step high, Hal; it may be our last one.  If we only had our knives!  But there are thousands of ’em.”

“But if it comes to the worst—­”

“Then—­I’m with you.  Forward!”

We started, and as we did so one of the four who had approached darted from behind and led the way.  Not a hand had touched us, and this appeared to me a good sign, without knowing exactly why.