The place was a mad riot of thorny
undergrowth, laced and bound with vines that were as strong as wire
hawsers. The lianas appeared human to us; they lassoed our legs and
flung us sprawling upon our faces whenever we tried to quicken our
speed. Thorns of a strange fishhook variety drove their barbed points
into us, and each yard of the tortuous path that we cut through the
devilish vines was marked by a scrap of our clothing, which the
tormenting thorns seemed to wave aloft as an emblem of victory.
"He'll beat us!" gasped Holman. "I'm all in, Verslun; that fall has
finished me."
"Keep at it!" I said. "We must be near the camp by now."
"We've walked three miles," muttered Holman. "We've lost our way."
"No, we haven't!" I cried. "We've struck a bad patch, but we'll get
there soon."
The youngster clenched his teeth and endeavoured to forget the agony of
his leg, but the effort taxed his courage.
"We'll do it," I said. "Don't let the brute beat us."
"I--I won't!" he stammered. "If it was anything but my leg! Verslun!"
He fell on his face, and I helped him up, but once again he collapsed.
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