"I believe it's a march till day," he said to Dalton. "It's bound to be. If a man were to lie down here, he'd find himself a mass of cinders in the morning, and it will take us till daylight and maybe past to get out of the Wilderness."
"If he didn't burn to death he'd choke to death. I never breathed such smoke before."
"That's because it's mixed with ashes and the fumes of burned gunpowder. A villainous compound like this can't be called air. How long is it until dawn?"
"About three hours, I think."
"You remember those old Greek stories about somebody or other going down to Hades, and then having a hard climb out again. We're the modern imitators. If this isn't Hades then I don't know what it is."
"It surely is. Phew, but that hurt!"
"What happened?"
"I brushed my hand against a burning bush. The result was not happy. Don't imitate me."
Dalton's horse leaped to one side, and he had difficulty in keeping the saddle. His hoof had been planted squarely in the midst of a mass of hot twigs.
"The sooner I get out of this Inferno or Hades of a place the happier I'll be!" said Dalton.