Chapter Eighteen – Back In The Jungle

There was no doubt that we were prisoners. The Indians gestured for us to continue on along the path, but formed a ring of guards around us and interestingly, took away all of our knives and machetes, but left us our firearms, presumably not being aware of what they were. With poisoned arrows pointed at us, it seemed politic not to make a fight of it, at least just yet.

The path, after some distance, opened out into a clearing containing long wooden huts covered with grass and leaves. Women and children stopped what they were doing to watch our arrival. All chatter ceased and an intimidating silence hung over everything. I hoped they weren’t watching the arrival of this evening’s meal. We were pushed unceremoniously into a smaller hut on the far edge of the clearing and then left to our own devices. The only contents of the building were woven sleeping mats. Our captors took the precaution of stationing guards around the hut.

“This is a helluva mess,” said Bruce.

“Not as bad as it could be,” said Elly. “We’ve still got our weapons, after all.”

“They won’t know what they are,” Father McConahay said. All three of us agreed; it’s what we’d all been thinking. It was then that we noticed that Juan and the three porters weren’t in the hut with us. Elly explained, having noticed what had happened.

“Juan and Leon slipped off into the jungle,” he said. “I don’t know how they managed it, but one minute they were there and then they weren’t. The other two poor souls are outside.” I didn’t dare think what that might mean, hoping that this talk of cannibals was just that, talk. It was stifling in the hut and sleep soon overcame us, all except Elly, who was fretting over this latest delay. When the rest of us woke, he explained his worries.

“We’ve lost time,” he said simply. “Cordovosa’s bound to be behind us and probably travelling more quickly because he’s got our trail to follow. There was a delay by the river, another delay with your fever, Martin and now this. He could be very close. And Count von Kleinmann will be with him. The only thing that gives us an advantage is that we have the map and they might be content to follow us, let us find the mine and then do whatever they intend to do.”

“It’s all very well thinking about what they intend to do when we find the mine,” I said. “It’s what we intend to do when we find it that I’d like to know.” Elly didn’t have a chance to answer me as there was a sudden cacophony of noise outside the hut. People were shouting and screaming and, according to Elly, who risked taking a quick peek out of the hut door, running around all over the place, but he couldn’t tell what was going.

“I can’t tell what’s going on,” he began and then the noise of the crying and yelling was punctuated by the sound of firearms and shooting. The natives were in a panic and in the frenzy caused by the shooting, the guards from around the hut and run off to join the general mayhem. “I can’t see who’s doing the shooting,” Elly said, “but we’d better take our chance now. Out through the doorway and down the hut to the back into the jungle. As quick as we can. Now!” We ran for it while the natives were distracted. It was easy and we were away quickly.

It was a dramatic change entering the oppressive green semi-darkness of the lush foliage. For a few seconds, none of us could see clearly, and rather than stumble about blindly, we paused for the short time it took for our eyes to adjust. Then we moved on. The ground sloped steadily down towards the stream we had crossed the previous night. And it was there that we found Juan and Leon, with big grins on their faces. Father McConahay slapped them both on the back.

“So it was you two doing the shooting,” Bruce said. “Well done.” Both Indians looked pleased with themselves, as if they’d understood.

“Apart from one thing,” Elly said, not looking too pleased.

“What, Elly?” I asked, a little exasperated. After all, we had escaped and that was down to Juan and Leon giving us a diversion. He could at least give them some credit.

“Those shots will have carried for miles in this country,” he said. “Cordovosa and Kleinmann, if he’s with him, will have a pretty good idea of how far ahead we are.” He seemed pretty concerned about it.

“But we are still alive,” pointed out Father McConahay.

“And we are still ahead of them,” added Bruce. Elly had to concede both points, but I could tell it was grudgingly.

“We’ve got to go,” he said. “It’s certain death to stay here. They’re bound to come looking for us when they get over their fright.”

“We’ve got to get the porters out,” I said. “We can’t leave them in there. God knows what’ll happen to them.” Elly didn’t look convinced. He wanted us to get away. Then a scream, a deathly, frightening scream, broke in upon the thoughts of all of us. It was quickly followed by another. I can’t speak for Elly and Bruce, but the sound of those screams set my heart pounding. I think we were all very aware of what they meant. Father McConahay leant forward and spoke quietly to Leon, who disappeared back towards the village. He wasn’t gone long, coming back shaking his head, murmuring something to the priest, who crossed himself.

“Well, gentlemen, we don’t have to concern ourselves with going back. The two men are dead.” His voice was flat, free from emotion, but it was easy to see he was upset.

“Let’s get moving,” said Elly, but I put my hand on his arm and stopped him.

“We’ve got no supplies, Elly,” I said. “All we’ve got are the two packs Juan and Leon managed to spirit away and whatever is in that small pack you won’t take off.” Elly’s small backpack had been a source of interest to me since we left the trading post. It was always on his back and I had no idea of what was in there.

“We’ll live off the land,” he said. “Now for God’s sake, let’s get out of here before we find ourselves back in that bloody hut!”

The Golden Man Chapter Seventeen – Capture

I tried to talk to Elly about the men who were pursuing us, but he seemed very reticent. There were questions that were starting to concern me and I still wasn’t completely sure about my role on this expedition. It seemed to be nothing more than watching his back for him, but without being party to everything that was going on. I’d picked up on the fact that neither the Venezuelan or British governments wanted the German and the pro-German families in Venezuela to gain control of a gold mine – a gold mine I was still fairly certain was the stuff of legend and myth. With a force of just three, or four if you included Father McConahay, how were we supposed to do that? For one thing was certain, if Senor Cordovosa was chasing us, he would have quite a large force of men with him. But Elly wouldn’t talk about it.

The river crossing the following morning was straightforward, as long as you ignored a thirty-foot sheer drop to one side. The stones were slippery under foot and the current quite fast, but Elly insisted on us all roping ourselves together to cope if any one of us slipped. The porters, naturally, seemed more sure-footed than us Europeans, but we all heaved a sigh of relief when we were once more on firm ground. Then without so much as time to get our breath back, we were off into the jungle again.

I was starting to find out just how unfit I was in the stuffy atmosphere of this valley and I began to doubt whether I was going to make it to wherever this expedition was going. I was sweating profusely all of the time, my shirt was sodden and the salty sweat, despite the band of my hat, was running into my eyes, making them sting and my vision blurred. I was constantly wiping them with a handkerchief which quickly became as wet as my shirt. I could feel my heart pumping madly in my chest each time our meagre path took us even slightly uphill. The others in the expedition looked uncomfortable, but none of them looked how I felt. It didn’t occur to me for one minute that I might be feverish.

It was the good Father, after some hours, who noticed there was something wrong and called for Elly to stop. I collapsed to the ground, exhausted and thirsty and Bruce wrapped a blanket around me. The porters stood to one side, unconcerned. Raising my head slightly, Elly poured some water down my throat, and gave me two tablets the size and colour of horse pills.

“Take these, Martin,” he said. “Warburg’s Drops.”

“Sweets?” I said.

“Don’t be so stupid. They’re a mixture of sloes, opium and quinine. Now just swallow the damned things.” I did and they tasted as awful as they looked. Then I slept. According to Bruce, I tossed and turned for the rest of the afternoon and all through the night but finally the fever broke and I slept naturally. When I woke in the morning, I had the most painful hangover feeling, but the fever appeared to have gone. Elly wanted to push on, but both Bruce and Father McConhay insisted I have a little more rest, even if it was only a few hours. He fretted constantly until I announced I was ready to go on.

As we walked, we all noticed it was quiet in the surrounding jungle, an eerie silence which dampened the spirits of everyone in the expedition. I couldn’t help but think of evil spirits and cannibals, no matter how much I tried not to, probably the aftermath of either the tablets or the fever. It was so different from the previous few days that even Juan, our guide, seemed worried. He told Father McConahay that something was wrong, but that he didn’t know what. The absence of sound, he said, meant the absence of wildlife, even the damned buzzing insects which were our constant companions, which was unusual. Elly tried to reassure us that it was actually us ourselves and the noise we were making which had frightened everything away, but I don’t think even he believed it.

I was worried. No, more than that, I was scared and I don’t mind admitting it. It was all just so unnatural. Then a scream of pain erupted from behind me in the line. I turned quickly and ran back along the trail, my pistol already in my hand.

“What’s happened?” I shouted, and then saw Bruce lying on the ground. He’d been hit in the leg by an arrow, and despite Father McConahay’s presence, was swearing profusely.

“Hey, is this damned thing gonna be poisoned?” he demanded. The priest had a quick word with Juan.

“He says no. You’d be dead. It’s a warning.”

“A warning us? Couldn’t they have put up a damned sign?” Bruce asked. Another few words between Father McConahay and Juan.

“He says they did. We walked past them.”

“I gather they don’t want us here?” I ventured, looking anxiously into the jungle and seeing nothing.

“Well we’re here and we’re not going anywhere!” Bruce yelled at the jungle. He paused. “Are you gonna pull this thing out, or just stand there talking?” With a slight smile, Juan leaned over and pulled the arrow out sharply. There was no barb and it came out cleanly.

“We’ll need to bandage the wound, Bruce,” Father McConahay said. As he worked we all gathered round, as if for protection from this unforeseen menace. A movement in the bushes had us all turning quickly. An almost naked Indian appeared, bow drawn ready. He stared at us impassively.

Elly was already by Juan’s side as the Indian appeared. He gestured to all of us to lower our weapons, and we were all relieved to see the Indian follow suit, albeit cautiously. He appraised the Indian, knowing that the native was also taking in everything about him and what must have been his unusual appearance.

Typical of jungle Indians, the man was quite short, with a swarthy coloured skin and a vaguely oriental face. He was wearing nothing but a piece of cloth tied round his waist, covering his loins, but leaving his buttocks bare. As we recovered from the shock of his appearance, others joined him, although none of us had seen any signal. Our own Indians, especially one whom we’d come to know as Leon, seemed particularly nervous. The sweat on his skin had nothing to do with the heat. He was scared.

“Matilones,” I heard him whisper to Juan. It meant nothing to me, but it seemed to mean a great deal to Juan. His eyes went wide. I think he felt we were in a great deal of trouble.

“Is this the tribe our porters were so afraid of?” I whispered to Father McConahay. He nodded, a grim look on his face, tying off the bandage on Bruce’s leg.

“Yes. Matilones.”

“The cannibals,” I said.

“Yes. Or so our porters believed.”

The Golden Man Chapter Sixteen – Desertion

As I’d come to expect, Elly wasn’t to be daunted by such trifles as this raging torrent. It was mid-afternoon, so we made camp and Bruce and I prepared food, while Elly and Juan discussed what to do about the obstacle in our path, with Father McConahay interpreting. Meanwhile, there seemed to be an undercurrent of anxiety among the porters, many of whom kept glancing across the water at the opposite bank. I don’t mind admitting it was causing me some anxiety as well.

With the food ready, Elly and the priest joined us, apparently having come to a decision about crossing the river. Elly explained that his first idea of attaching a rope to an arrow and using one of the Indian bows to fire it across wouldn’t work. The bows were simply too light. He seemed quite amused that Juan had actually laughed about the idea. There were alternatives. A suggestion by Father McConahay that a man have a rope tied round him and then make his way across the river was also discounted. Although whoever took on the task would be able to be pulled out, there was no simply no way of fighting your way through the current.

It was at this point that Bruce and I found out from Elly that this was country Juan didn’t know. He’d admitted that he’d been as far as the edge of the valley before, but never set foot in it. It wasn’t a very comforting thing to find out. However, to redeem himself, he’d offered to scout up and down the river to see if there was a safer place to cross. Elly had agreed to go with him in the morning after a good night’s rest, while we were to wait for them by the river. It was, insisted Elly, a waste of effort to move all of us. He’d pooh-poohed the language difficulties. “We’ll get by,” was all he’d said.

It seemed strange in the early morning light to see him disappear into the jungle with Juan, but we settled in and Father McConahay began to regale us with tales of his life before he heard the call to take the cloth. He hadn’t gotten far into his story when we were interrupted by the noise of argument from the porters, who were gathered to one side, some little distance away from us. There was a lot of arm-waving and gesticulation going on, and, as on the previous day, a large number of worried looks across the river. Father McConahay went to investigate and seemed to be gone for a long time, although time does pass slowly when you’re waiting. When he finally returned, he looked concerned and slightly crestfallen.

“Problems, Father?” I asked, perhaps a little too breezily given the worried look on his face.

“Our porters refuse to cross the river,” he said.

“Can’t say as I blame them,” I said with a quick glance at the torrent behind us. ”Very sensible decision, if you ask me.”

“It’s nothing to do with the water, except that it marks the boundaries of their territory. Apparently it’s instant death for them to cross.” I stopped myself saying that it would be instant death for us to cross as well, and Bruce asked the priest a question.

“Evil spirits or arrows?”

“Both, I think,” replied Father McConahay. “Despite Juan admitting he’s not been here before, it appears that the man doing most of the shouting has. He’s explained that Juan is not of their tribe, but an outsider. They are Ortones and don’t have good relations with the tribe whose land lies over there across the river.” He paused and pointed. “They’re convinced they’ll be eaten if they cross. This is going to cause us serious problems.”

“Is there anything we can do about it?” I asked more seriously.

“No. They simply won’t cross. One or two will, out of loyalty to me, but the rest are determined to leave.” And leave they did, almost all of them, well before Elly and Juan arrived back in camp. At first he was almost jubilant.

“There’s somewhere much easier to cross a mile or two upstream,” he said. “It was hard going, but we’ve marked a path and  it should be fairly comfortable for the porters.” That’s when we explained the situation to him. He hadn’t as much as looked towards the porters’ camp in his enthusiasm for telling us his news and this came as a shock. There were only three men left there. “Couldn’t any of you have done something?” he asked angrily.

“Like what, Elly?” I asked. “Threats weren’t going to work on men frightened for their lives, were they? What could we do? Threaten to shoot them?” He looked at Father McConahay.

“Father?”

“The men left are here because of loyalty to me, but the others I could do nothing about. Tribes are very territorial.” The wind seemed to go out of Elly’s anger and he fell quiet. Father McConahay turned to Juan speaking to him in his own language. Juan’s reply was short. “I asked him if he’d had any warning of this, but he says not,” the priest said.

“We’ll just have to make the best of it,” I said. “We can’t go back. There’s probably a Venezuelan bandit and a German count on our trail.” I didn’t add that going forward wasn’t a wonderful idea.

“There’s three porters and five of us, so between us we should be able to carry quite a lot,” said Elly and we fell to dividing the stores as well as we could. “We might be able to negotiate for porters on the other side of the river,” he added. After a serious session of sorting things out, a large portion of our stores was buried in a cache for our return journey and then we began walking upstream to the crossing point Elly and Juan had found. Elly wanted us to break camp and move there in case any of the porters returned with thoughts of stealing from us, or worse. I made sure I was walking next to him.

“Elly, are you serious about crossing into territory where the natives eat people. I don’t fancy myself as a roast.” Elly continued talking to Bruce.

“I don’t believe the porters on that one, Martin,” Elly said, laughing. “Evil spirits, cannibals and probably horned monsters. “The chaps on the other side of the river probably think the same thing about this side.” I turned to Bruce for support, only to find him calmly lighting a cigar, smiling. Right now, a miserable rainy day in my rooms in Kensington seemed a very, very good idea.

The Golden Man Chapter Fifteen – The Jungle

Sleep didn’t come very easily to me that night. I’d woken in the morning wondering if we were all going to actually see the day out and things had been fairly lively since then. When I finally got to sleep, I dreamed of mountains, snow, glaciers and high passes, but even in my sleep I knew these were European mountains. I didn’t know what the Cordillera would be like, because the only images I had of South American mountains were from Conan Doyle’s recently published ‘The Lost World,’ mountains rising stark and rugged from the surrounding jungle. The mountains Bruce had pointed out to me didn’t look like that.

I was tired in the morning and found everything rushed. Highly organised, but rushed. Elly was still urging speed and no one was arguing with him; the thought of Cordovosa catching us was uppermost in everyone’s minds. I, for one, was still concerned about the connection, if there was one, between El Senor and Herr Wittstein, or Count von Kleinmann as I now knew him to be.

Although I was in full agreement with Elly, I’ve always regarded breakfast as sacrosanct, the most important meal of the day and one to be savoured and enjoyed. This rushing about went very much against the grain and there wasn’t even as much as a decent cup of tea to be had, not that I’d had one of those since leaving dear old England. I was also well aware that things could get a whole lot worse yet, so I did the only thing a chap could do

and went along with the hasty departure without complaining. We were on our way before my stomach had a chance to wonder what had happened to the kippers, let alone the toast and marmalade.

We’d finished the previous day heading upwards, the beginning, I thought, of continuing that way until we reached the Cordillera itself, but our route took us down off what proved to be the first of a series of undulating ridges, adding a great deal to the distance we walked and the effort we had to put into it. At camp each night, my feet were sore and my legs aching and unfortunately weren’t much better each morning. Then late one afternoon, but still well before we would normally have thought of stopping, Father McConahay called a halt to our little procession and called the three of us forward to where he and our guide Juan were standing.

Instead of another grassy slope downwards followed by a struggle up the other side, we’d stopped on the edge of what seemed to be a deep and wide valley. The deep I was judging by the fact that we seemed to be above tree level. The wide was obvious from just looking and was confirmed by a swift conversation between the Father and Juan.

“He says two days travel to cross,” Father McConahay said, “so I think it might be best to camp now and start in the morning when we’re fresh.”

“Good idea,” I said, possibly a little too hastily, because my legs were aching more than ever, but Bruce and Elly agreed with me.

“No sense in going in now,” Elly said. “We don’t know what we’re going to find and it’ll waste time looking for a suitable camp-site. Let’s get a fire going.”

The darkness descended upon us quickly as it always does in this part of the world, or so Elly had explained to me. Supper, as with every night since we’d left the trading post, was a meagre affair. Elly would allow us only a tiny fire to heat water, in case anyone who might be following us could see it in the darkness, so the food we ate was cold. With the fire safely doused and Elly, Bruce and Juan agreeing to take turns to guard us, we settled down for sleep, but it was another night where sleep was elusive. Nights on the grassland had been relatively peaceful, but even at the edge of the valley where we were, the noise coming up from down below was loud, a variety of shrieks, screams and other animal sounds. It was hardly conducive to a good night’s rest and I was well aware that I would be spending the following night in the middle of it. It wasn’t a relaxing thought, but sleep must have come eventually, because I awoke sweating in the dawn light with confused memories of my rooms in Kensington, steamy jungles, a rather enormous snake and a dark haired beauty who looked disconcertingly like Senorita Sanchez.

The forest before us as we descended in the morning was completely shrouded in a mist and was almost impenetrable. Dead and decaying trees had fallen over, blocking paths and tracks, while rotting brambles and bracken lay everywhere. Everything seemed wet and despite the noise of the previous night, there were no signs of life – nothing running through the trees or along the ground and no birds singing, just greenery everywhere and a gloomy cloud which had settled over the place and us. We moved on deeper and deeper into the forest, pushing and cutting our way through the dense tangled undergrowth, constantly heading downwards. The ground became wet, slippery and treacherous and it became more and more difficult to keep our feet as we tried to get to the bottom. Within an hour of us breaking camp and starting the descent, I’d fallen over on my backside three times and then broken the staff that was supposed to be keeping me upright.  It didn’t help much that my companions found this insufferably funny. Bruce, trying to keep a straight face, had some advice for me on my third tumble:

“Stop putting your feet in slippery places, Martin, and you’ll be fine.” At least one of the Indians cut me a new staff. But I swear he had a smile on his face.

And as for my boots! Damned great heavy things, they simply got heavier as they became caked with mud. I had innocently thought they would give me more grip, but constantly going down on my rear end had put paid to that idea. It had also occurred to me that the Indians weren’t wearing boots, and they certainly weren’t falling over. The logical conclusion was to take them off, so I sat down on a log to undo my laces.

Our guide Juan, who’d been standing near me, yelled something indecipherable and slashed at me with his machete. I’d seen how sharp this thing was and knew I had no chance to get out of the way. I closed my eyes and felt the rush of air as the blade whirred past me and slammed into the log with a thud. I opened my eyes and right next to me, neatly cut in two was the largest, ugliest spider I’d ever seen.

Juan had a huge grin on his face as I thanked him and then held out his flask to give me a drink to settle my nerves. I knew that the Indians carried flasks of their own home brewed beer as it was safer than drinking the water, so I gratefully took a long swig. It tasted foul and left me spluttering and coughing, much to everyone’s amusement. A nice drop of brandy of perhaps a good old gin and tonic would have gone down better.

“When you’ve finished playing around, Martin, can we please get on?” Elly’s concern was touching.

After hours of making little progress, the forest became less dense and we found ourselves on a river bank, with the first glimpses of blue sky that we’d seen for hours above us. The problem was the river. It was an angry, raging river, running fast and dirty and giving the impression of wanting to sweep away anything that dared to get in its way.

It stopped us in our tracks.

The Golden Man Chapter Fourteen – Escape

“It would be foolish, if not suicidal, for me to stay here,” the priest said simply. A mischievous smile came to his lips. “And you must be aware, Mr Elliott, as an educated man, of how seriously the church looks upon the sin of suicide.” It was interesting to see Elly speechless, even if it wasn’t for long. He was shaking his head as he spoke.

“I don’t think that will be possible, Father,” he said. We’re going…”

“Oh, I know where you’re going, Senor Elliott, and I’ve a pretty shrewd idea of why, if Senor Cordovosa is involved,” the priest interrupted, and before a surprised Elly could speak again, Father McConahay carried on. “I presume Senor Cordovosa offered to provide you with guides?” Elly nodded. It had been part of the agreement. “Well, I think that given the circumstances, they are no longer available, don’t you, Mr Elliott? And that will leave you with a problem. Am I right?” Elly nodded again. “I also doubt if any of you speak the local language and you certainly don’t have porters, so I think you need help.” It was obvious that Elly had been thinking the same thing from the look on his face. Yet he still seemed strangely reluctant. His next words surprised me.

“How do we know we can trust you?” was the blunt question he asked. I laughed. It seemed such a silly question to be asking a man of the cloth, and one who had just saved our skins. Elly glared at me, while Father McConahay looked serious.

“A fair question,” he said, “and one I would ask myself, if I were in your shoes. I take it the cloth itself doesn’t impress you?”

“No,” said Elly flatly. “Far from it.” I found this a little embarrassing. I mean, questioning a man of God about trust? It didn’t seem right. Even Bruce was looking uncomfortable and as far as I was aware, our American cousins weren’t noted for their finer feelings.

“An honest answer, Mr Elliott,” the priest said. “Let me put it to you in a slightly different way. You need me and the help I can arrange for you, and as a result of what’s happened here today, it would be in my interests not to stay. If I have to go, which I do, I would prefer to travel with Europeans, as the conversation is so much better.” He smiled again. “What we can be sure of is that El Senor will be looking for all of us.” After a few moments’ thought, it was clear Elly had made his mind up that Father McConahay could accompany us.

“Well, Father,” he said, “I think you’re right. We need each other, but what we need urgently is a plan, so let’s get down to it, shall we?”

“You’ll have to mind your language from now on,” Bruce whispered in my ear as we walked into the trading post. “We’ve got a priest on board and God on our side.” He walked off chuckling, leaving Elly, myself, Father McConahay and one of Indians to talk about the arrangements for our journey. As usual, it turned out that my role was to sit and listen.

There was no chance for relaxation, because as Elly put it, ‘speed was of the essence.’ The thought of Cordovosa’s men on our trail was enough incentive in itself. The good father had said we possibly had a few days, but the consensus of opinion was to use that time to put as much distance between us and the trading post as we could. Elly asked a large number of questions of Father McConahay, who in turn passed many of the queries to the man who was to become our chief guide, an Indian named Juan. It was nearly two weeks before we found out he could speak perfectly good English, but we never found out why he hid the fact from us. However, I’m getting ahead of myself.

Forming up in a long crocodile with ourselves at the head, the porters forming the body of the column and a group of Indians at our rear, armed with the weapons taken from Cordovosa’s men, we were soon leaving the trading post through the double gates, and out into the forest. It was a good, well-used track leading from the trading post, and I guessed many Indians had used it.

I’d thought that the forest was oppressive when we’d been steaming through it on the river, but walking through it gave it a whole new dimension that was close to being claustrophobic. The track we were following was constantly but gently rising uphill and after a few hours, even the slight incline was starting to have an effect on my legs. And then before the end of the day, to my surprise and relief, we were out of it. I’d been expecting a long trek through increasingly dense undergrowth and the sudden appearance of blue sky overhead was very welcome. It was Father McConhay who explained.

“The ground is very fertile along the river banks, but as you must have noticed, it rises up and away from the water. That’s why there’s only a relatively narrow band of growth.” I thanked him, but I wasn’t really worried about the lesson, just glad to be out of the trees. There was some discussion about camping under the lee of the forest, but it was agreed to push on, heading for the distant hills.

We crossed rough grassland, still constantly heading uphill. The countryside, if you can call it that, as it bore no resemblance to any countryside I’d seen before, was unchanging and tough going underfoot, but the whole expedition was taking on the air of a camping trip. Baden-Powell with his new ‘Scouting For Boys’ movement back in England, would have been proud of us.

When we reached the top of a particularly steep hillock, I was hot, exhausted and extremely thankful when Elly suggested stopping for the night. It was, he suggested, a spot where no one could creep up on us. As a couple of tents were being erected and a fire being started, I looked back to where we’d come from. At the height we’d now reached, the open ground of the trading post was clearly visible and there was now smoke rising from the buildings, joining that from the still burning steamer.

“Cordovosa’s men are already here!” I called to Elly. “The post’s on fire!” It was Father McConahay who turned to me.

“Don’t worry. I had my Indians set it alight as soon as we left. It might just make Cordovosa’s men believe a little longer that it was an Indian raid.”

“Martin!” Bruce called. “Stop worrying about what’s behind us and come over here.” I walked over to him and he gestured ahead of us, towards a range of blue mountains in the distance. “The Cordillera de Merida. That’s much more interesting than smoke, isn’t it?” he asked.

“It’s a good view,” I said and he nodded.

“It’s more than that, Martin. It’s our destination. Those mountains are where we’re going.”