Don't you laugh too soon, Jack.

It will be your turn next." The Spaniard helped Hawtry to regain his seat, and they were soon clattering along the dusty road at a brisk rate, the boys quickly getting accustomed to the pace, which, indeed, was smooth and easy.
For hours they rode on, sometimes trotting, sometimes walking, taking no heed whither they were going, and enjoying the novelty of the ride, the high cactus hedges, the strange vegetation, little villages here and there, sometimes embowered in orange trees, and paying no heed to time.
Presently Jack exclaimed,-- "I say, Hawtry, it must be getting late.

We have been winding and turning about, and I have not an idea how far we are now from Gib.

We must be through the gates by gun-fire, you know." They stopped, and by pantomime explained to the Spaniard that they wanted to get back again as soon as possible.
He nodded, made a circle with his arm, and, as they understood, explained that they were making a circuit, and would arrive ere long at their starting-place.
For another hour and a half they rode along, chatting gayly.
"I say, Jack," Hawtry exclaimed suddenly, "why, there's the sun pretty nearly down, and here we are among the hills, in a lonelier looking place than we have come to yet.

I don't believe we're anywhere near Gib.