He could not catch the drift of conversation; but, as the tongue spoken was Spanish, he lay motionless and listened, expecting each moment to be discovered by some straggler.

For several hours his unseen neighbors cooked, ate, smoked cigarettes, laughed, and talked without suspecting his presence within a few yards of them; while he, desperately hungry, cramped, and filled with impatience at this aggravating detention, wondered if they were going to stay there forever.
When, after what seemed an eternity of suspense, those who had unwittingly kept him prisoner took their departure, the sun had passed its meridian, and Ridge, parched with thirst, was suffering as much from the breathless heat as he had with cold a few hours earlier.

As he cautiously approached the scene of the recent bivouac he found it to be where a small stream crossed a narrow trail, and, after quenching his thirst, he followed the latter in what he believed to be the direction of Daiquiri.

At any rate, it was the opposite one from that taken by his recent unwelcome neighbors.

Up hill and down the dim trail led him, across streams and through dark ravines, but always buried in dense foliage, through which he could gain no outlook.
After our young trooper had followed the devious course of this rough pathway for several miles, he suddenly came to a halt, and stood spellbound.