to the hills, still far, far away beyond that water?

Martin stared at the scene before him for some time; then, feeling
very tired and weak, he sat down on the sandy ground beside a scanty
dark bush. Tears came to his eyes: he felt them running down his
cheeks; and all at once he remembered how long before when his
wandering began, he had dropped a tear, and a small dusty beetle had
refreshed himself by drinking it. He bent down and let a tear drop,
and watched it as it sank into the ground, but no small beetle came
out to drink it, and he felt more lonely and miserable than ever. He
began to think of all the queer creatures and people he had met in
the desert, and to wish for them. Some of them had not been very
kind to him, but he did not remember that now, it was so sad to be
quite alone in the world without even a small beetle to visit him. He
remembered the beautiful people of the Mirage and the black people
of the sky; and the ostrich, and old Jacob, and the savages, and the
serpent, and the black weasel in the forest. He stood up and stared
all round to see if anything was coming, but he could see nothing
and hear nothing.

By-and-by, in that deep silence, there was a sound; it seemed to
come from a great distance, it was so faint. Then it grew louder and
nearer; and far away he saw a little cloud of dust, and then, even
through the dust, dark forms coming swiftly towards him. The sound
he heard was like a long halloo, a cry like the cry of a man, but
wild and shrill, like a bird's cry; and whenever that cry was uttered,
it was followed by a strange confused noise as of the neighing of
many horses. They were, in truth, horses that were coming swiftly
towards him--a herd of sixty or seventy wild horses. He could see
and hear them only too plainly now, looking very terrible in their