Gradually they relaxed into a dogged
amble, their heads down, their tongues out. Every now and again they
half paused, with quivering knees.
Adan's was the first to collapse; it fell to its knees, then rolled
over, Adan scrambling from under, unhurt.
Roldan also dismounted, and both boys, without a word, unsaddled the
poor brutes, thrust the pistols into their belts and what was left of
the provisions into their pockets. They cast off their ponchos, then
once more turned their faces to the south. But they did not advance.
They stood with distended eyes and suspended breath. The city had
disappeared.
Adan was the first to find speech. "A fog?" he asked. "A rain storm?"
"There is neither. The horizon is as blue and clear as it is on the
north and east and west. It is a miracle. Let me think a moment."
He sat down and took his head between his hands. After a while he looked
up. "For hours I have been trying to remember something," he said. "Do
you remember what that mayor domo said to us?--Keep straight on,
straight on, never turning to the left, for that way lies the terrible
Mojave desert, I barely heard his last words at the time; that is the
reason I have had such a time remembering.
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