"What must be done?" said he.
"Continue our march, Mr. Dick," replied Tom. "We cannot remain on this plain, that the rain is going to transform into a marsh!"
"No, Tom, no! But a shelter! Where? What? If it were only a hut—"
Dick Sand had suddenly broken off his sentence. A more vivid flash of lightning had just illuminated the whole plain.
"What have I seen there, a quarter of a mile off?" exclaimed Dick
Sand.
"Yes, I also, I have seen—" replied old Tom, shaking his head.
"A camp, is it not?"
"Yes, Mr. Dick, it must be a camp, but a camp of natives!"
A new flash enabled them to observe this camp more closely. It occupied a part of the immense plain.
There, in fact, rose a hundred conical tents, symmetrically arranged, and measuring from twelve to fifteen feet in height. Not a soldier showed himself, however. Were they then shut up under their tents, so as to let the storm pass, or was the camp abandoned?