For several miles they rode over the smooth surface of a dry river bed. Then they turned and followed a path around a small mountain.
“Wonder how this path got here?” said Joe, as they plodded up the hill.
“Wasn’t made by nature,” concluded Mr. Holton, observing the regularity that was persistent with every step.
He resolved to use his limited knowledge of the native language and inquired of Tishmak, for surely the guide would know.
When finally the latter understood, he replied that the lane had been made by Tuaregs who inhabited this region. Perhaps the path would lead them to a village.
But the searchers trudged on around the hill without seeing any signs of natives. However, they finally broke away from the narrow way and emerged on level country.
They were now on a high plateau, with towering peaks on all sides of them. As far as the explorers could see, there were no breaks or ravines anywhere about.
Rifles were discharged at intervals, and hoarse shouts often rent the air. At every few steps the searchers stopped to look about, almost expecting eventually to find the lost ones nearer than they thought.
Once Bob thought he heard footsteps, but several minutes of listening convinced them that no one was about. Perhaps it had been his imagination.
“Sounded like someone was coming toward us,” the youth said. “But I guess I just thought so.”