senses, I lifted some drops in my
hand, and applied them to my lips. They were briny and burning. I
might have known this before reaching the lake, for I had ridden through
a salt incrustation that surrounded it like a belt of snow. But my
brain was fevered; my reason had left me.

It was of no use remaining where I was. I climbed back into my saddle,
and rode along the shore, over fields of snow-white salt. Here and
there my horse's hoof rang against bleaching bones of animals, the
remains of many a victim. Well was this lake named the Laguna del
Muerto--the "Lake of Death!"

Reaching its southern point, I again headed westward, in hopes of
striking the river.

From this time until a later period, when I found myself in a far
different scene, I have no distinct memories.

I remember dismounting on a high bank. I must have travelled
unconsciously for hours before, for the sun was low down on the horizon
as I alighted. It was a very high bank--a precipice--and below me I saw
a beautiful river sweeping onward through groves of emerald greenness.
I thought there were many birds fluttering in the groves, and their
voices rang in delicious melody. There was fragrance on the air, and
the scene below me seemed an Elysium. I thought that around where I
stood all was bleak, and barren, and parched with intolerable heat. I
was tortured with a slakeless thirst that grew fiercer as I gazed on the
flowing water. These were real incidents. All this was true.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

I must drink. I must to the river. It is cool, sweet water. Oh! I
must drink. What! A horrid cliff! No; I will not go down there. I
can descend more easily here. Who are these forms? Who are you, sir?
Ah! it is you, my brave Moro; and you, Alp. Come! come! Follow me!
Down; down to the river! Ah! again that accursed cliff! Look at the
beautiful water! It smiles. It ripples on, on, on! Let us drink. No,
not yet; we cannot yet. We must go farther. Ugh! Such a height to
leap from! But we must drink, one and all. Come, Gode! Come, Moro,
old friend! Alp, come on! We shall reach it; we shall drink. Who is
Tantalus? Ha! ha! Not I; not I! Stand back, fiends! Do not push me
over! Back! Back, I say! Oh!

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Part of all this was a reality; part was a dream, a dream that bore some
resemblance t