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to change course and march upstream into the jungle until the wadi flattened out and I found an easy place to cross it. This detour took several hours. I doubled back on the other side of the stream, straight and to the left, in the direction of the Tuichi. Another stream cut across my path, but this one I could ford easily, skipping from stone to stone, careful not to lose my balance and fall in. Beyond the stream was a field of thorns. There were no trees at all, only bushes and this-tles as tall as I was. Having no other choice, I plodded into it, trying to clear a path.

I experienced a new kind of hell in the field of thorns. I lost my sense of direction, and my entire body was scratched and mauled. Scathing nettles stabbed into me, and I shook with pain and fear. At long last I made it back to the jungle and to the lost path. The trail here did not look as if it had been in use, however. It was unreliable and led me astray for a long while. It was frequently covered over completely with jungle foliage. It couldn't be that men marched over this path every year, I told myself, but no sooner had I done so than I suddenly heard, in the distance, human voices. There were speaking, and someone called out something. I started running and shouting, 'Help! Hey, hey! Wait for me! Espera! Espera!'

I ran as if possessed. I shouted myself hoarse. I struck out at the branches that blocked my way. Then stopped to listen. Not the slightest whisper