Jill gazed in the same direction.
“Our horses were gone!”
Far away on the plain we could descry two black moving spots. These were our steeds, but miles beyond our power of recall.
Night had quite fallen before we left the lake side, for we had to go right back to the places from which our horses had stampeded for our guanaco mantles.
The stars were shining brightly, and high in the heavens was Jill’s half-moon; so that for a time we had light enough. We gave many an anxious glance towards the west, however. We naturally wondered whether our horses had gone straight home. If so, assistance would speedily come. It was unlikely, however, for, excited with having obtained their freedom, the animals would be more apt to make for the forest, there to play truant for a time and crop the twiglets—already breaking into bud and burgeon—from their favourite bushes and trees.
By the time we had walked about three miles we felt very tired indeed, and agreed to abandon our game. We put them, therefore, in a heap on the plain, and continued our journey. But for that ominous cloud bank which was rising higher and higher, we should have taken the journey more easy, and perhaps have rested a while.
On we walked, almost dragging our weary limbs now. The night still continued fine, the moon seemed to change into molten silver, the stars literally sparkled and shone like diamonds in their background of dark ethereal blue.
There was something almost appalling, however, in the gradual approach of that great sheet of cloud, rising grim and dark on the western horizon. It came on and up more swiftly every minute, and soon covered one whole third of the heavens.
On and up, on and upwards, swallowing star after star, constellation after constellation, and now it has reached the moon itself, and for a moment only its outer edge is a rim of golden light; then the moon too disappears, is buried in the black advancing mass. Almost at the same time the wind comes moaning over the plain, accompanied with driving snow. It increases every minute, and soon it is nearly impossible to walk against it.
It is almost a hurricane now; it moans no longer, it roars, shrieks, howls around us, and the snow freezes into cakes upon our garments, into ice on our faces, into icicles on our hair.