"That is true to a certain point, señor conde," the capataz observed.
"Why so?"
"We have no guides."
"What use are guides?" the count said passionately. "I fancy we need only follow the Apache trail."
Blas Vazquez shook his head.
"You do not know the Del Norte, excellency," he said candidly.
"This is the first time accident has brought me this way."
"I pray God it be not the last."
"What do you mean?" the count said with a secret shudder.
"Señor conde, the Del Norte is not a desert, but a gulf of shifting sands; at the slightest breath of air in these desolate regions the sand rises, whirls, and swallows up men and horses, leaving not a trace; all disappears for ever, buried beneath a cerecloth of sand."