“Yes, and badly lost, for there is nothing one can climb to take a view of the surroundings. Even if you were to get upon my shoulders you could see but little.”
“I’ll try it,” I answered, and did so without delay, for the sun was now sinking in the west.
But my chum had been right; try my best I could not look across the waving cane-tops. We were hedged in on all sides, with only the setting sun to mark our course.
“It’s worse than being out on an open prairie,” I remarked. “What shall we do?”
“There is but one thing—push on,” rejoined Alano gravely; “unless you want to spend a night here.”
Again we went on, but more slowly, for even my chum was now weary. The wet ground passed, we struck another reach of upland, and this gave us hope, for we knew the sugar cane would not grow up the hills. But the rise soon came to an end, and we found ourselves going down into a worse hollow than that we had left. Ere we knew it, the water was forming around our boots.
“We must go back!” I cried.
“I think it is drier a few yards beyond,” said Alano. “Don’t go back yet.”
The sun had set, so far as we were concerned, and it was dark at the foot of the cane-stalks. We plowed on, getting deeper and deeper into the bog or mire. It was a sticky paste, and I could hardly move one foot after another. I called to Alano to halt, and I had scarcely done so when he uttered an ejaculation of disgust.