With the setting of the sun an ominous silence fell.

He could hear the low breathing of Susy, and even fancied he could hear the beating of his own heart in that oppressive hush of all nature.

For the day's march had always been accompanied by the monotonous creaking of wheels and axles, and even the quiet of the night encampment had been always more or less broken by the movement of unquiet sleepers on the wagon beds, or the breathing of the cattle.

But here there was neither sound nor motion.
Susy's prattle, and even the sound of his own voice, would have broken the benumbing spell, but it was a part of his growing self-denial now that he refrained from waking her even by a whisper.

She would awaken soon enough to thirst and hunger, perhaps, and then what was he to do?
If that looked-for help would only come now--while she still slept.