In fact, it looked not unlike those imaginative pictures of the road to the infernal regions described by the ancient poets.

One could picture Pluto in his chariot, with Proserpine beside him, thundering downwards behind his black horses, on the way to those sombre and magnificent regions which are hollowed out beneath the surface of the planet.
Freeman, however, presently saw a sight which, if less spectacularly impressive, was far more agreeable to his eyes.

On a shelf or cup of the declivity was a little clump of vegetation, and in the midst of it welled up a thin stream of water.

The mustang scrambled eagerly towards it, and, before Freeman had had time to throw himself out of the saddle, he had plunged his muzzle into the rivulet.

He sucked it down with such satisfaction that it was evident the water was not salt.