This time we took the precaution to tie our horses to the calipaté or barberry bushes, with lassoes.
The day drew so quickly to a close—apparently, I mean, for time does slip fast away when one is enjoying himself.
When the sun sank at last, we found ourselves two good miles at least from our homes. We could not do the distance on such ground, and carrying so much game, under an hour.
“Never mind, Jill,” I said; “there will be a moon, you know.”
“Half a moon, but that’ll be enough. I believe I shall quite enjoy the canter home under the stars.”
“What is that yonder, Jill?” As I spoke, I pointed to a long white ridge that was slowly rising over the wooded hills and sierras.
“That is cloud!”
“I hope we are not going to have a change of weather.”
“Never mind, we’ll soon get home. An hour and a half will do it. Hurry up.”
We had been looking for a few minutes more at the ground beneath our feet than at anything else. When I glanced along the lake edge again, I could not believe my eyes, for a moment or two.