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The horses plunged up to their chests in the water

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A ramada stood on the banks of the rio

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The red wolves launched in pursuit of the horse

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Thalcave struck them down with the butt of his rifle

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Glenarvan and Thalcave urged their horses on

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The shot made the whole flock of flamingos take wing

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The Searcher’s route across South America

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Paganel had occasion to observe mirages

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It was a dozen children and young boys who were drilling

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“Ah! Enchanté! Bienvenu! Bienvenu!” The Commandant shook Paganel’s hand. “Suis Français, aussi,” he added

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A falling, rising, rushing, incoherent mixture of frightened animals, fleeing with a frightful speed

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The monstrous wave, forty feet high, swept over them

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Thaouka was being rapidly carried away by the current

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They dried themselves, and hung their ponchos in the breeze

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Paganel appeared, tumbling down from branch to branch

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The hunt was going well

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“Once upon a time…”

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The sun had just set beyond the sparkling mists of the western horizon

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A burning globe, the size of a fist, appeared at the end of the horizontal branch

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The gigantic water-spout threw itself on the ombú

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“Amigos!” said the Patagonian

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Glenarvan kept watch

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“Quien sabe?” said Thalcave

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Lady Glenarvan and Mary Grant stood waiting on the poop

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The learned geographer, thus called upon, began to speak