Only after half an hour's riding were they able to clamber to a table-land where they were out of reach. It was as well, for their horses refused to go any farther.
The darkness was increasing. How were they to recover the tracks of Isabel and her kidnappers? And how could their own tracks, buried beneath this enormous sheet of water, be recovered by Antonio and his men?
"We are separated from the others," said Simon, "and I don't see how our party can be got together again."
"Not before to-morrow, at all events," said Dolores.
"Not before. . . ."
And so these two were alone in the night, in the depths of this mysterious land.
Simon strode to and fro on the plateau, like a man who does not know on what course to decide and who knows, moreover, that there is no course on which he can decide. But Dolores unsaddled the horses, unbuckled the saddle-bags and said:
"Our food will hold out, but we have nothing to drink. The spare water-bottles were strapped to Antonio's saddle."
And she added, after spreading out the two horse-rugs:
"We will sleep here, Simon."