Apparently the Croixilians realized the difficulty in which their guests were placed, for three of them dismounted and took the reins of the horses the Englishmen were riding. At length, after fifty yards or more had been traversed, a small, semicircular disk of white was observed in the distance. It was the end of the tunnel. Five minutes later Reeves and his companions were blinking in the sunshine. They found themselves on the borders of an open plain, the river merging into a large lake that, although apparently not more than a mile in width, extended as far as the eye could reach. On the opposite side was a small stone fort, with loopholes fashioned in the form of a cross, like those for the use of crossbowmen in feudal castles. Winding his horn, one of the escort blew a loud blast, and presently a boat shot out from behind a low stone quay. In it were four men with fair complexions, and, as they ran the boat ashore and leapt out, Reeves noticed that they, too, wore a device on the right breasts of their grey tunics, only instead of a cross this was the letter T. Into the boat the travellers with their baggage made their way, the horses having to swim across; and, urged by the powerful strokes of the rowers, the craft shot out for the opposite shore. During the voyage the cross-bearing men held well aloof from the T wearers, who, for their part, maintained a submissive silence. Reeves would have liked to ask questions, but the silence seemed contagious, and he held his tongue. "Follow us carefully, riding one behind another," cautioned Garth, as the cavalcade resumed its way. "One step to the right hand or to the left means death." The three comrades instantly complied, wondering what could be the reason for the extraordinary caution, for the land was flat, and composed, as far as they could see, of hard, sun-baked clay, with no sign of a path or beaten track of any description. On and on they rode, for more than two miles, in a perfectly straight line. Reeves noticed, however, that the direction was maintained by keeping a solitary tree in line with a peculiarly-shaped crag, both being a long distance from the river. Suddenly Garth, who was leading, stopped and dismounted. Grasping his short spear, and treading cautiously, he stuck it into the ground. It was like driving a sharp knife through a pie crust. The soil offered a temporary resistance, and then the spear-haft sank, almost as far as the hand that held it, without the faintest effort. With a gesture of annoyance the Croixilian withdrew the weapon and drove it in at a different spot, this time with more caution. Here the soil was firm, and the spearhead had to be forced home.