Several hours passed, and about eleven in the morning the travellers stopped under the shade of a clump of trees, so as to let the hottest part of the day pass.
Tyro had not reappeared; never since the commencement of the expedition had he made so long an absence. The painter felt uneasy, and several times had risen, and, with an anxious look, had examined the desolate route which stretched before him, till it was lost to sight. At last, about three in the afternoon, the young man gave the signal for starting.
They resumed their journey; only this time, instead of keeping near the ladies, Emile spurred his horse and dashed ahead.
The clump of trees under which the travellers had found a protecting shade had long disappeared in the distant bluish horizon, and the sun had begun sensibly to decline, when the painter perceived a horseman galloping towards him.
In this horseman the young man immediately recognised his guide.
Giving way, immediately, to the impatience which had so long tormented him, the painter put his horse into a gallop and soon rejoined him.
"Well," he asked, "what news?"
"Many things, my friend," resumed the Indian.
"I understand, pardieu!" cried he; "Only I wish to know whether these things are good or bad."
"That depends on how you judge them, my friend; for my part, I think them good."