I looked at the thick green tangle. This was Fallon's four-foot forest, and it had been steadily getting worse. At this rate it would take us at least six hours to get to the cenote. and possibly longer. 'Let's get on with it,' I said. 'Give me your machete; this one is bloody blunt.'
An hour later Harry said, 'Stop!' The way he said it made the hairs on the back of my neck prickle, and I stood quite still. 'Easy now!' he said. 'Just step back -- very quietly and very slowly.'
I took a step backwards, and then another. 'What's the matter?'
'Back a bit more,' he said calmly. 'Another couple of steps.'
So I went back, and said, 'What the hell's wrong?'
I heard the sigh of his pent-up breath expelled. 'There's nothing wrong -- now,' he said. 'But look there -- at the base of that tree.'
Then I saw it, just where I had been standing -- a coiled-up horror with a flat head and unwinking eyes One more step and I'd have trodden on it .
That's a bushmaster,' said Harry. 'And God help us if we get bitten by one of those.'
The snake reared its head, then slid into the undergrowth and vanished. I said, 'What a hell of a place this is,' and wiped the sweat from my forehead. There was a bit more wetness there than my exertions had called for.
'We'll take a rest,' said Harry. 'Have some water.'
I groped in my pocket. 'I'll have a cigarette instead.'
'It'll dry your throat,' Harry warned.
'It'll calm my nerves,' I retorted. I inspected the packet and found three left. 'Have one?'
He shook his head. He held up a flat box. 'This is a snakebite kit. I hope we don't have to use it. The guy that gets bitten won't be able to travel for a couple of days, serum or no serum.'
I nodded. Any hold-up could ruin us. He took a bottle from his pocket. 'Let me put some more of this stuff on those scratches.' Harry cleaned up the blood and disinfected the scratches while I finished the cigarette. Then again I hefted the machete but a little more wearily this time, and renewed the assault on the forest.
The palm of my hand was becoming sore and calloused because sweat made the skin soft and it rubbed away on the handle of the machete. This was bladework of a different order than I was used to; the machete was much heavier than any sporting sabre I had used in the salle d'armes, and although the technique was cruder more sheer muscle was needed, especially as the blade lost its edge. Besides, I had never fenced continually for hours at a time -- a sabre bout is short, sharp and decisive.
We continued until it was too dark to see properly, and then found a place to rest for the night. Not that we got much rest. I didn't feel like sleeping at ground level -- there were too many creepie-crawlies -- so we found a tree with outspreading branches that were not too high, and climbed up. Harry looked inexpressibly weary. He folded his hands over his chest and, in the dimming light, again I saw a dark trickle of blood at the corner of his mouth.
'You're bleeding again,' I said, worriedly.
He wiped his mouth, and said, That's nothing. Just the cuts in my mouth where the teeth broke.' He lapsed into silence.
The forest at night was noisy. There were odd rustlings all about, and curious snufflings and snortings at the foot of the tree. Then the howler monkeys began their serenade and I awoke from a doze with a sense of shock, nearly falling out of the tree. It's a fearsome sound, like a particularly noisy multiple murder, and it sets the nerves on edge. Fortunately, the howlers are harmless enough, despite their racket, and even they could not prevent me from falling asleep again.
As I dozed off I had a hazy recollection of hearing voices far away, dreamlike and inconsequential.
III
The next day was just a repetition. We breakfasted on the last of the water and I drank the noisome dregs with fervent appreciation. I was hungry, too, but there was nothing we could do about that. A man can go a long time without food, but water is essential, especially in tropic heat.
'How far to the cenote?' I asked.
Harry gropingly found his map. All his movements were slow and seemed to pain him. 'I reckon we're about here,' he said croakingly. 'Just another mile.'
'Cheer up,' I said. 'We ought to make it in another three hours.'
He tried to smile and achieved a feeble grin. I'll be right behind you,' he said.
So we set off again, but our pace was much slower. My cuts with the machete didn't have the power behind them and it was a case of making two chops when only one had been necessary before. And I stopped sweating, which I knew was a bad sign.
Four hours later we were still not in sight of the cenote, and the bush was as thick as ever. Yet even though I was leading and doing the work I was still moving faster than Harry, who stopped often to rest. All the stuffing seemed to be knocked out of him, and I didn't know what was the matter. I stopped and waited to let him catch up, and he came into view almost dropping with exhaustion and sagged to the ground at my feet.
I knelt beside him. 'What's wrong, Harry?'
'I'm all right,' he said with an attempt at force in his voice. 'Don't worry about me.'
'I'm worried about both of us,' I said. 'We should have reached the cenote by now. Are you sure we're heading the right way?'
He pulled the compass from his pocket. 'Yes; we're all right.' He rubbed his face. 'Maybe we should veer a bit to the north.'
'How far, Harry?'
