All that day the heat was terrible. The wind blew close to the ground, lifting the white dust from the road and driving it into our faces. The horses moved wearily, half-blinded by the dust. The pack-horse was sick -- with a big sore place on her back. She kept stopping, looking too tired to go on. Hundreds of birds screamed high overhead. There was nothing to see except mile after mile of coarse grass, with the occasional purple flower or grey-green bush.

Jo rode ahead. He wore a blue shirt and a white handkerchief round his neck, with a red pattern that looked like bloodstains on it. For once, he was not singing,

"I don't care, for don't you see,

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