And now let us mount and march." Our course was almost due west, and the sun being now a little past the zenith, its ardent rays--which shone right in our faces--together with the reverberations from the ground, made the heat almost insupportable.

The stirrup-irons burned our feet; speech became an effort; we sat in our saddles, perspiring and silent; our horses, drooping their heads, settled into a listless and languid walk.

The glare was so trying that I closed my eyes and let Pizarro go as he would.

Open them when I might, the outlook was always the same, the same yellow earth and blue sky, the same lifeless, interminable plain, the same solitary sombrero palms dotting the distant horizon.
This went on for an hour or two, and I think I must have fallen into a doze, for when, roused by a shout from Gahra, I once more opened my eyes the sun was lower and the heat less intense.
"What is it," asked Carmen, who, like myself, had been half asleep.

"I see nothing." "A cloud of dust that moves--there!" (pointing).
"So it is," shading his eyes and looking again.