Glenarvan was regretting this exceedingly, when he unexpectedly met with a singular justification of his rendering of the eventful document.
In pursuing the course the travelers had laid down for themselves, they had several times crossed the routes over the plains in common use, but had struck into none of them. Hitherto Thalcave had made no remark about this. He understood quite well, however, that they were not bound for any particular town, or village, or settlement. Every morning they set out in a straight line toward the rising sun, and went on without the least deviation. Moreover, it must have struck Thalcave that instead of being the guide he was guided; yet, with true Indian reserve, he maintained absolute silence. But on reaching a particular point, he checked his horse suddenly, and said to Paganel:
“The Carmen route.”
“Yes, my good Patagonian,” replied Paganel in his best Spanish; “the route from Carmen to Mendoza.”
“We are not going to take it?”
“No,” replied Paganel.
“Where are we going then?”
“Always to the east.”
“That’s going nowhere.”
“Who knows?”