"How far off should you say it was, Ned?" Tom asked, when they had recovered a little from their first outburst of joy.
"A long way off," Ned said. "I suppose we must be fifteen thousand feet above it, and even in this transparent air it looks an immense distance away. I should say it must be a hundred miles."
"That's nothing!" Tom said. "We could do it in two days, in three easily."
"Yes, supposing we had no interruption and a straight road," Ned said. "But we must not count our chickens yet. This vast forest which we see contains tribes of natives, bitterly hostile to the white man, maddened by the cruelties of the Spaniards, who enslave them and treat them worse than dogs. Even when we reach the sea, we may be a hundred or two hundred miles from a large Spanish town; and however great the distance, we must accomplish it, as it is only at large towns that Captain Drake is likely to touch."
"Well, let us be moving," Tom said. "I am strong for some hours' walking yet, and every day will take us nearer to the sea."
"We need not carry our deer skins any farther," Ned said, throwing his down. "We shall be sweltering under the heat tomorrow, below there."
Even before they halted for the night, the vegetation had assumed a tropical character, for they had already descended some five thousand feet.
"I wish we could contrive to make a fire tonight," Ned said.
"Why?" Tom asked. "I am bathed in perspiration, now."
"We shall not want it for heat, but the chances are that there are wild beasts of all sorts in this forest."