On the other side, the silence of death: a grey horizon; a sea of sand, whose agitated waves pressed forward on every side, as if to encroach on the prairie; not even the most scanty pasture--nothing--no roots, no moss, naught but sand!
After his conversation with Cucharés the count recalled his lieutenants, and began drinking and laughing again in their society. They rose from the table at an advanced hour to retire to sleep. Cucharés, however, did not sleep: he was too busily engaged in thinking. We know now, or nearly so, with what purpose he joined the count at the Casa Grande.
At sunrise the bugles sounded the _réveillé_. The soldiers rose from the ground on which they had been sleeping, shook off the night's cold, and were busily engaged in dressing their horses and preparations for the morning's meal. The camp soon put on that hurry and reckless animation so characteristic of Frenchmen when out on an expedition.
In the great hall of the Casa Grande the count and his lieutenants, seated on the dried skulls of buffaloes, were holding a council. The discussion was animated.
"In an hour," the count said, "we shall set out. We have twenty mules laden with provisions, ten to carry water, and eight for ammunition. We have, therefore, nothing to fear."
"That is true to a certain point, señor conde," the capataz observed.
"What use are guides?" the count said passionately. "I fancy we need only follow the Apache trail."
"You do not know the Del Norte, excellency," he said candidly.
"This is the first time accident has brought me this way."
"What do you mean?" the count said with a secret shudder.
"Señor conde, the Del Norte is not a desert, but a gulf of shifting sands; at the slightest breath of air in these desolate regions the sand rises, whirls, and swallows up men and horses, leaving not a trace; all disappears for ever, buried beneath a cerecloth of sand."
"Believe me, señor conde," the capataz continued. "Do not venture with your brave soldiers into this implacable desert: not one of you will leave it again."
"Still the Apaches are men too: they are not braver or better mounted than we, I may say."
"Well, they cross the Del Norte from north to south, from east to west, and that, not once a year or ten times, but continually, whenever the fancy takes them."