light as a star-gemmed mid-night, for the leafy vault
above us was radiant with fireflies, gleaming like diamonds in the dark
hair of a fair woman.

But even with this help it was extremely difficult to force our way
through the tangled undergrowth, which we had several times to attack,
sword in hand, and none of us were sorry when Gahra announced that we had
reached the end.

"_Por todos los santos!_ But this is fairyland!" exclaimed Carmen, who was
just before me. "I never saw anything so beautiful."

He might well say so. We were on the shore of a mountain-tarn, into whose
clear depths the crescent moon, looking calmly down, saw its image
reflected as in a silver mirror. Lilies floated on its waters, ferns and
flowering shrubs bent over them, the air was fragrant with sweet smells,
and all around uprose giant trees with stems as round and smooth as the
granite columns of a great cathedral; and, as it seemed in that dim
religious light, high enough to support the dome of heaven.

I was so lost in admiration of this marvellous scene that my companions
had unsaddled and were leading their horses down to the water before I
thought of dismounting from mine.

Apart from the beauty of the spot, we could have found none more suitable
for a bivouac! We were in safety and our horses in clover, and, tethering
them with the lariats, we left them to graze. Gahra gathered leaves and
twigs and kindled a fire, for the air at that height was fresh, and we
were lightly clad. We cooked our _tasajo_ on the embers, and after smoking
the calumet of peace, rolled ourselves in our _cobijas_, laid our heads on
our saddles, and slept the sleep of the just.

CHAPTER XIII.

ON THE LLANOS.

Only a moment ago the land had been folded in the mantle of darkness. Now,
a flaming eye rises from the ground at some immeasurable distance, like an
outburst of volcanic fire. It grows apace, chasing away the night and
casting a ruddy glow on, as it seems, a vast and waveless sea, as still as
the painted ocean of the poem, as silent as death, a sea without ships and
without life, mournful and illimitable, and as awe-inspiring and
impressive as the Andes or the Alps.

So complete is the illusion that did I not know we were on the verge of
the llanos I should be tempted to believe that supernatural agency had
transported us while we slept to the coasts of the Caribbean Sea or the
yet more distant shores of the Pacific Ocean.

Six days are g