The involuntary bath which saved our lives served also to restore our strength. When we entered it we were well-nigh spent; we went out of it free from any sense of fatigue, a result which was probably as much due to the chemical properties of the water as to its high temperature.
But though no longer tired we were both hungry and thirsty, and our garments were wringing wet. Our first proceeding was to take them off and wring them; our next, to look for fresh water—for the azuferales was like the ocean-water, water everywhere and not a drop to drink.
As we picked our way over the smoking waste by the light of the full moon and the burning forest, I asked Carmen, who knew the country and its ways so much better than myself, what he proposed that we should do next.
“Rejoin Mejia.”
“But how? We are in the enemies’ country and without horses, and we know not where Mejia is.”
“I don’t think he is far off. He is not the man to retreat after a drawn battle. Until he has beaten Griscelli or Griscelli has beaten him, you may be sure he won’t go back to the llanos; his men would not let him. As for horses, we must appropriate the first we come across, either by stratagem or force.”
“Is there a way out of the forest on this side?”
“Yes, there is a good trail made by Indian invalids who come here to drink the waters. Our difficulty will not be so much in finding our friends as avoiding our enemies. A few hours’ walk will bring us to more open country, but we cannot well start until—”
“Good heavens! What is that?” I exclaimed, as a plaintive cry, which ended in a wail of anguish, such as might be given by a lost soul in torment, rang through the forest.
“It’s an araguato, a howling monkey,” said Carmen, indifferently. “That’s only some old fellow setting the tune; we shall have a regular chorus presently.”