d the _travesia_
across it has been altogether obliterated.

Gaspar only knows the place where it begins; this by the bank of the
river which there also commences its curve, turning abruptly off to the
south. He thinks the route across the _salitral_ is due westward, but
he is not sure. And there is no sign of road now, not a trace to
indicate the direction. Looking west, with the sun's disc right before
their faces, they see nothing but the brown bald expanse, treeless as
cheerless, with neither break nor bush, stick nor stone, to relieve the
monotony of its surface, or serve as a land-mark for the traveller. And
the same thing both to the right and left, far as their eyes can reach;
for here the river, after turning off, has no longer a skirting of
trees; its banks beyond being a low-lying saline marsh--in short, a part
of the _salitral_. To ride out upon that wilderness waste, to all
appearance endless, with any chance or hope of finding the way across
it, would be like embarking in an open boat, and steering straight for
the open ocean.

Not on that night, anyhow, do they intend making the attempt, as the
darkness will soon be down upon them. So dismounting from their horses,
they set about establishing a camp.

But when established they take little delight in its occupation. Now
more than ever are they doubtful and dejected; thinking of that terrible
_travesia_, of which all traces are lost, and none may be found beyond.
To Cypriano no night since their starting out seemed so long as this.

Little dream they, while seated around their camp-fire, or lying
sleepless alongside it, that the tract of country they so much dread
entering upon, will, in a few hours' time, prove their best friend.
Instead of sending them further astray it will put them once more on the
lost trail, with no longer a likelihood of their again losing it.

Unaware of this good fortune before them, they seek rest with feelings
of the utmost despondency, and find sleep only in short snatches.

CHAPTER FORTY.

ON THE SALITRAL.

Next morning the trackers are up at an early hour--the earlier because
of their increased anxiety--and after break fasting on broiled ostrich
leg, make ready to recommence their journey.

_Nolens volens_, they must embark upon that brown, limitless expanse,
which looks unattractive in the light of the rising sun as it did under
that of the setting.

In their saddles, and gazing over it before setting o