The road was becoming more and more mountainous and difficult.
There were fewer homes and no hamlets, and now he began to despair
entirely of meeting any who could give him direction unless he
turned and retraced his steps to the nearest farm.
Directly before him the narrow trail he had been following for the
past few miles wound sharply about the shoulder of a protruding
cliff. He would see what lay beyond the turn--perhaps he would find
the Old Forest there, after all.
But instead he found something very different, though in its way
quite as interesting, for as he rounded the rugged bluff he came
face to face with two evil-looking fellows astride stocky,
rough-coated ponies.
At sight of him they drew in their mounts and eyed him suspiciously.
Nor was there great cause for wonderment in that, for the American
presented aught but a respectable appearance. His khaki motoring
suit, soaked from immersion in the moat, had but partially dried
upon him. Mud from the banks of the stagnant pool caked his legs to
the knees, almost hiding his once tan puttees. More mud streaked his
jacket front and stained its sleeves to the elbows. He was
bare-headed, for his cap had remained in the moat at Blentz, and his
disheveled hair was tousled upon his head, while his full beard had
dried into a weird and tangled fringe about his face. At his side
still hung the sword that Joseph had buckled there, and it was this
that caused the two men the greatest suspicion of this strange
looking character.
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