Long, level plains lay before them. Here and there they could see small huts made of sun-baked clay.
Occasionally they passed by fields where some crude efforts at tilling the soil had been made, but the greater part of the country was bleak and bare.
The sun beat down mercilessly on the bare plain. The grass was withered and brown, and patches of sandy soil reflected the heat.
There were no roads, but for some time after leaving Tangier they could follow in the track made by many caravans that had passed that way. Gradually this track became fainter and fainter, till at last it was lost entirely.
The solitude of the plains was depressing, the silence was awesome.
Frank began to realize the magnitude of his undertaking, and, for the first time, he doubted the wisdom of the attempt; but he said nothing, riding onward in silence, his face firm and resolute.
Professor Scotch was silent and gloomy, while Ephraim’s jests seemed to fall flat and be lost on the others.
The sun swung lower and lower, but its rays seemed to lose none of their scorching heat.
“What ef we should not find one of them air carryvans ter-night, Frank?” asked Ephraim, rather anxiously.
“We will find it in the morning,” was the calm reply.