The river that both were preparing to cross in a contrary direction, swollen by the rains from recent storms, was pretty broad at this time, which fact hindered the two travellers from severally reconnoitring each other sufficiently to form a decided opinion of one another.
Every stranger that one meets in the desert is, if not an enemy, at least without information, an individual whom prudence warns the traveller to mistrust.
After a short but decidedly perceptible hesitation, each traveller took his fusil in his hand, from his shoulder belt, loaded it, making the trigger snap with a sharp noise, and appearing to take a decided resolution, lightly touched the flanks of his horse with a spur, and entered the river.
The ford was broad and not deep, the water reached scarcely to the belly of the horses, which permitted the horsemen to go their own way.
However, they advanced towards each other, continuing to watch each other attentively, and ready to fire at the least suspected movement.
Suddenly they raised a joyful exclamation, and stopped, bursting out into hearty laughter.
Several times they tried to speak, but laughter was stronger than their will.
Meanwhile, they had suddenly dropped their fusils, which immediately resumed their unoffensive position in the shoulder belt.
At last one of them succeeded in gaining sufficient coolness to give expression to his thoughts.
"Pardieu!" cried he in French, stretching out his right hand to his companion, who was still laughing; "The encounter is strange. I do not yet dare to believe my eyes. Are you a man or a phantom? Is it yourself, my dear sir—you whom I saw scarcely two years ago in Paris, dancing attendance on the government for some employment or other—that I now find in the depths of the desert, wearing poncho and sombrero?"