As yet, however, they had not met either buffaloes or elephants on this plain.
Ned kept strictly to his programme, and led his company straight across the plateau, only turning a little out of the straight course when stalking down some special prey. He always returned, however, to his bee-line as soon as the sport was run to earth.
The distant mountains were his landmark. Each day they were getting nearer and more sharply outlined against the limpid sky. The stream trended directly towards them.
They had taken matters easy during these five days, seldom covering more than ten or twelve miles each day of straight travelling. Some days they had not covered half that distance. On Sundays they always rested; and as a Sunday had been spent on the plateau, they reckoned that they had put in about thirty-eight to forty miles since leaving the forest.
The mountains still lay, as nearly as they were able to calculate, about thirty miles away. These had been rising gradually on their view, until now they loomed a considerable height over the horizon.
As far as our heroes could judge of the ranges, they appeared sterile, rocky, and uninviting; rugged in outline, with upstarting and fantastic peaks, that broke against the sky like great tors.
When the sun shone upon them, the adventurers could see patches of tawny light, with serrated edges and ragged shadows of violet. There were also long zigzag lines of deeper purple, that looked like chasms and steep precipices. Nothing like vegetation appeared to line those bleak and rugged ridges.
“If we are in the land of plenty now, yonder appears to be the land of desolation,” observed Clarence.
“Yes; I fancy we shall see something different over there from what we have hitherto experienced,” answered Ned, cheerfully. “Fortunately, our friend ‘Rhodes River’ still is with us.”
“It is also growing, like the game, beautifully less as we advance,” remarked Fred.