"Oh!" said they, "if he keeps on blurting out his whole line of route like this, we shall only have the empty nests of the robbers to thresh out for our trouble." "And this chap thinks, forsooth, that he will capture Fatia Negra!" growled the veteran sergeant.
But no sooner did they get beyond the fenced fields than Szilard suddenly turned his horse's head and leading the way to the other side of the mountain-stream, cut his way through the forest, ordering his comrades to hurry after him as speedily as possible.

What he was aiming at, nobody had the least idea.

If he meant to lose his way in the forest he was setting about the best way to do it.
Suddenly he ordered his followers to dismount and lead their horses by their bridles up to the top of the mountain.

The old sergeant now guessed what he was after, but did not approve of it.
"There is no path for a horse up this mountain," said he.
"Silence, sir! I know what I am about.

Follow me!" And so, for a good half hour, cursing their leader bitterly beneath their breaths, they painfully struggled after him up the dangerous path and then, suddenly, a marvellous sight met their gaze.