Clara had repeatedly expressed her doubts as to the road, and Coronado had as often asserted that they would soon see the train.

At last the ravine became a gully, winding up a breast of shadowy mountain cumbered with loose rocks, and impassable to horses.
"We are lost," confessed Coronado, and then proceeded to console her.

The train could not be far off; their friends would undoubtedly seek them; at all events, would not go on without them.

They must bivouac there as well as might be, and in the morning rejoin the caravan.
He had been forethoughted enough to bring two blankets on his saddle, and he now spread them out for her, insisting that she should try to sleep.
Clara cried frankly and heartily, and begged him to lead her back through the canon.

No; it could not be traversed by night, he asserted; they would certainly break their necks among the bowlders.