Without another word, they all wheel their horses about, and move off in the direction of the quebracha.
Chapter Thirty Three.
A Fish Dinner at Second-Hand.
As they make towards the tree, which has erst served others than themselves as a guide to the crossing-place, the nature of the ground hinders their going at great speed. Being soft and somewhat boggy, they are compelled to creep slowly and cautiously over it.
But at length they get upon a sort of ridge slightly elevated above the general level, though still unsafe for fast travelling. Along this, however, they can ride abreast, and without fear of breaking through.
As they proceed onward, Gaspar gives them some further information about the ford they are making for.
“We can easily wade it,” he says, “if this awkward and ill-timed dust-storm hasn’t changed it, as everything else. When poor dear master and I went across—that would be about six months ago—the water wasn’t quite up to our stirrups; but, like as not, last night’s downpour has raised it too, and we’ll have a swim for it. Well, that won’t matter much. There, at all events, we can get the horses out; as the bank slopes off gently. So there’ll be no fear of our being stuck or sent floundering in the stream. A regular Indian road, crosses the riacho there, and has worn a rut running down to the channel on both sides.”
His hearers are pleased at this intelligence; Cypriano signifying so by the laconic rejoinder—