A
discouraged "Halloa!" came promptly back.
Roldan dressed himself rapidly. His clothes were quite dry; indeed the
very atmosphere of this strange beautiful place was so dry that it
seemed to crumble in the nostrils. As he finished dressing Adan reached
him. The horses' heads were hanging listlessly. Adan's face had lost its
ruddy colour.
"Roldan," he said, "where are we?"
"I know not," said Roldan, setting his lips.
"I left you to look for water, and there are not even tarantulas in this
accursed place. There is no water, not a drop. Nor a handful of stubble
for the horses."
"We must go back the way we came, and start once more from the foot of
the mountain."
"Can you remember from which point we entered this place? This soil
might be rock; there is not a hoof-print anywhere."
"We should have gone south and we came east. On the northwestern horizon
is something which looks like mountains--a long range--almost buried in
mist. There is no sign of a range anywhere else; so the only thing to do
is to go back to them; they are our mountains; I feel sure of that."
"If the horses do not give out. They are empty and choking, poor things.
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