Then some high mountains began to loom up in front.
“I believe those are the Los Pueblos Mountains!” declared Frank, positively.
“Golly! dat am good!” cried Pomp.
“Bejabers, thin we ought to be nigh the inemies’ camp,” remarked Barney.
“Yes,” agreed Frank. “It is well for us to be on the lookout.”
The region about them was of the most bare and arid sort.
To the southward there extended a literal desert, seemingly as wild as the famed Steppes of Tartary.
Every few steps the bones of some dead animal and occasionally a man were encountered.
It was in fact a plain of death. No living thing adorned it, and it was probably in time of great drought that many travelers had lost their lives here.
The Steam Man picked its way across the plain.