Not on that night, anyhow, do they intend making the attempt, as the darkness will soon be down upon them. So dismounting from their horses, they set about establishing a camp.
But when established they take little delight in its occupation. Now more than ever are they doubtful and dejected; thinking of that terrible travesia, of which all traces are lost, and none may be found beyond. To Cypriano no night since their starting out seemed so long as this.
Little dream they, while seated around their camp-fire, or lying sleepless alongside it, that the tract of country they so much dread entering upon, will, in a few hours’ time, prove their best friend. Instead of sending them further astray it will put them once more on the lost trail, with no longer a likelihood of their again losing it.
Unaware of this good fortune before them, they seek rest with feelings of the utmost despondency, and find sleep only in short snatches.
Chapter Forty.
On the Salitral.
Next morning the trackers are up at an early hour—the earlier because of their increased anxiety—and after break fasting on broiled ostrich leg, make ready to recommence their journey.
Nolens volens, they must embark upon that brown, limitless expanse, which looks unattractive in the light of the rising sun as it did under that of the setting.