"Can't see or hear anything of the animals," said Griggs, at last, as he strode up with the light. "Ain't heard any more of Mr B'ar, have you?"

"No," was the reply.

"They were scared off by the shooting, I expect, or else by getting a sniff of the b'ar's wound."

"Would they go far?" asked the doctor.

"Can't say, sir, but not so far that we can't follow them by their trail."

"It's a great nuisance, just when we had decided to make an early start in the morning. Now everything depends upon our finding the animals and bringing them back."

There was of course no more sleep that night, neither, much as it was expected, was there any return of the visitor of the night during the long hours of the watch.

But the morning broke at last, and as soon as it was light enough the party began to follow the trail of the bear, starting from the spot where Bourne had his alarming adventure, the traces of which were plain enough, the earth and growth being torn up by the brute's claws. From there the spots of blood which had fallen from the bear's wound were plain enough at intervals, and they were followed for about a quarter of a mile, where the animal had plunged into the dense forest, where the trees and undergrowth presented a front that could not be penetrated by a human being, though comparatively easy for a quadruped.

Further pursuit was given up, and the party returned to follow up the trail of the ponies and mules.

This was found at once, the animals, obeying their gregarious instinct, having, after being alarmed, closed in together for mutual protection and made off down the gully to the open country and the plains.

Griggs took the lead from old experience of such accidents, and pointed out how the frightened beasts had galloped frantically for miles, then, pretty well exhausted, subsided to a trot, which had been kept up for several more before their progress became a walk, with halts here and there for grazing. In fact, it was several hours before the poor brutes were sighted right out on the salt plain, and when overtaken and headed off on the return journey, not even a single mule seemed to make the slightest objection, for they all closed up into a drove and walked steadily back, every animal with roughened coat stiffened by dust and ready to hang its head with the look of one which had done enough work for one day.

It was not until the afternoon that the dreary tramp back brought the party in sight of their last night's camp, and that was not reached until close upon sundown, a long halt having been necessary to water the weary beasts and let them graze.

"I don't think we're going to make much of a start to-day, Griggs," said Chris, with a twinkle in his eyes.

"I know I'm not, squire," said the American. "It seems a shame to neglect human beings for the sake of horses, but it has to be done. Here, I meant to have a few birds for a roast this evening, and now it's only tea and fried bacon. But it might be worse, eh?"

"Ever so much," replied Chris. "But I am hungry."

"I say," said Ned, laughingly, "oughtn't some of us to go again and try to find the bear, while the others light the fire and boil the kettle?"

"No," said Chris. "We had enough bear last night."

"Yes," said Ned, "but that was live bear; I meant slices of him to frizzle in the pan. Griggs says bear's ham is good."

"So it is, squire, and if we had a haunch of the brute I'd set you an example to eat it."

"What does it taste like?" said Chris.

"Well, it's rather hard to say. A good fat bear's ham looks rather like a bit of a pig salted and dried; but it doesn't taste like it a bit."

"Like what, then?" cried Chris.

"Something like a mutton ham that has been trying to make-believe that it had grown on a pig's hind-quarters. 'Tain't bad, but don't you two get letting your mouths water, because you'll get none to-night. It's tea and cake and a bit o' bacon. That's our tackle this time, and very glad I shall be to get even that."

In another hour they were quietly enjoying the simple meal, during which the doctor said—

"An early start in the morning, boys. You'll be able to sleep to-night, Chris, without dreaming about porcupines and skunks, which were all consequences of indigestion and the later supper."

"But the bear wasn't, father," said Chris quickly.

"Well, no," said the doctor dryly; "we'll leave out the bear."

"You ought to include it in your lesson on indigestion, though," said Bourne, giving himself a rub. "I didn't eat too heartily last night, but I suffered horribly from bear lying heavily upon my chest."

"My watch to-night," said the doctor; and soon after the camp was once more in a state of repose, but Chris Lee had chosen a different position for his bed.



CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE.

THINKING OF SUPPER.

The party was astir soon after daybreak, nothing having interfered with the night's repose, and the first thing seen to, was the state of the horses and baggage animals.

They too were all the better for the rest, but the result of the examination was a discussion between the doctor and Griggs over the injuries the animals had received.

Two of the mules had been down, and showed injuries to their knees. One had evidently met with a bad fall over a piece of rock, and limped painfully, while two of the ponies wore the aspect of having been over-ridden.

"I think they ought to have another day's rest, Griggs," said the doctor.

"And I think they ought to have two," was the reply; "but what about staying here? The Indians may find and follow our trail."

"We must not think of waiting two days," replied the doctor, "but I think we might risk one, and we must send out a scout along the road we have come, to select a suitable spot on high ground and keep a lookout. If he sees danger on the way he must ride back and warn us. Meanwhile we'll have everything ready for an immediate start, keeping the animals close in, and the packs, so that we can load up at once."

Griggs nodded.

"What about the scout?" he said.

The doctor looked at him in silence.

"You mean you would like me to go?"

"Yes, but there is no reason why you should go alone. I could easily spare one of the boys."

"That's right—Chris," said the American, and in pretty good time that morning these two, with their wallets well supplied and their water-bottles filled, rode off along the back track to make a reconnoissance, with the understanding that they were to rejoin their friends that night.

It was a glorious ride through a lovely country, slowly and cautiously taken, till a spot was reached commanding the portion along which danger seemed sure to come if it was astir, and here, with their ponies hobbled to graze, Chris and the American watched hour after hour, enjoying the rest.

"But doesn't it seem queer," said Chris, as the day wore on, "just because we are bound to be so careful, and dare not fire a shot for fear of taking the enemy's attention, we have had chance after chance of getting birds? I should have liked to take three or four brace back with us."

"Yes," said Griggs shortly. "Been a nice change; but it wouldn't do."

The sun was getting low when Griggs finished a long search of the back country with the glass he carried, and ended by closing it and thrusting it into the case.

"No Indians to-day, or we should have seen them. I think we may start back now."

They were soon in the saddle, and, to Chris's delight, he found that his pony's stiffness had pretty well passed off, while, to the intense satisfaction of both, the slight lameness grew better and promised well for the next day.

They kept to a walk, pausing wherever a good view back could be obtained, till it began to grow dark, but they kept steadily on.

"Another hour ought to bring us to camp," said Griggs suddenly.

"And they'll be waiting supper for us," said Chris. "I hope they have done a little shooting. A turkey would be splendid to-night. Don't you think so?" added the boy, after waiting in vain for an answer.

"I was thinking about something else," said the American slowly.

"What about—the gold city?"

"No, my lad, I was thinking about how awkward it would be if the Indians had found a better road than we did, and had got to the camp while we've been away."

"Griggs!" cried Chris in an agonised voice.—"Oh, nonsense! You said that to scare me."

"No; it's too serious a thing to cut jokes about. This is a big country, and we are only feeling our way, being strangers. Those Indian fellows were born in it, and must know it by heart."

"Here, let's ride on as fast as we can," said Chris huskily. "You think, then, that they may have been surprised?"

"I only felt that it might be possible."

"Then let's get on at full speed," cried Chris. "It's horrible to think that they may be wanting our help."

"We can't ride at full speed," said Griggs quietly, "only go at a walk; and I dare say it's all my fancy."

"But we might go faster than this," said Chris excitedly.

"No; the way's so bad that we should only throw our ponies down."

"But if—" began Chris.

"But if anything had happened there we should want our ponies to be fresh and ready for a gallop. It would be madness to hurry them over rough ground. There, I'm sorry I spoke, lad, for I honestly believe that I have alarmed you for nothing."

"I can't help thinking it is not for nothing," said Chris bitterly. "Why do you say that now? It's only to comfort me."

"Not quite all. I've been thinking. Suppose the camp has been attacked. It could not have been from this side."

"No, because we should have seen the Indians."

"Then it must have been from the other."

"Of course."

"What would the doctor do then?"

"Defend it to—the last," said Chris, with the final words seeming to stick before they would come.

"No, he wouldn't; he'd keep up a running fight."

"What, retreating?"

"I should say so; retiring on the detachment he had sent out, as a soldier would say. To put it differently, he'd begin to think as you did, for though you said nothing I could see your first thought was about your father. Wasn't it?"

"Of course," said Chris huskily.

"Yes, of course; and he'd say to himself, 'There's my boy over yonder with that long, thin Yankee chap.' We must join them at once. Now, don't you see, if anything had happened we should have met them before now?"

Chris could not speak, but reached over to hold out his hand, which was warmly grasped by Griggs, who then began to talk cheerily.

"Very stupid of me," he said. "I was feeling tired and mouldy. I've had precious little sleep, fidgeting about this wild-goose sort of expedition. I'm precious hungry too, and that makes a poor fellow feel low-spirited. My word, I mean to make my mark in that roast turkey to-night! Sniff, sniff, sniff! That isn't roasting I can smell, coming with the wind, is it?"

Chris laughed, and Griggs went on chatting.

"Keep a tight rein over these stony bits. I do like to take care of a horse," he said. "Poor beggars, they're the best of friends, but I do wish they wouldn't be such cowards. Getting up a stampede like that and chipping and straining themselves, all on account of a bear. They've no pluck."

"Then I suppose I've none either," said Chris, "for the bear frightened me."

"Ha, ha! Yes, and poor Mr Bourne too. My word, didn't he holloa!"

"And no wonder," said Chris. "Wouldn't you have done the same?"

"I just should. I say, though, I hope they haven't shot any of those tough old gobblers, years old. They're as stringy as a fiddle. One just a full year old's the sort of fellow we want. Who'll be cook? Your comrade Ned, I expect. If he has let the bird burn I'll never forgive him."

"There'll be no turkey, Griggs," said Chris.

"What! Why?"

"Because father won't have any firing."

"Well, they might trap one, or knock one over with a stick sent flying like a boomerang."

"Here, I say, don't!" cried Chris. "I'm so hungry too that it makes my mouth water. Here, I know what we shall have for supper."

"Yes, what?" cried Griggs eagerly.

"One of those big tins of preserved meat warmed up with water in the kettle like a thick soup, and damper cakes, and tea as well."

"And not a bad supper either, lad, for hungry folks. Glad of it, for I've no faith in Ned Bourne's cooking. He can make capital tea and coffee, but when it comes to roasting a turkey, or cutting it up and frying it in a pan, I'd beat him hollow. How much farther have we to go?"

"About a mile," said Chris, and he had hardly spoken before from out of the darkness ahead came the Australian cry—Coo-ee!

"There's Ned," said Chris eagerly. "Come to meet us.—Coo-ee! Is it all right?"

"Yes, all right," came back.

"Tain't," said Griggs gruffly. "He's left the fire, and that turkey will burn."

"Soup," said Chris merrily.

"Well, soup, then," growled Griggs. "Why can't he stick to his work?"

"Anyone with you?" cried Chris.

"No; I came on alone. Where's Griggs?"

"Here I am," replied the American to the voice out of the darkness. "I say, how came you to leave that turkey?"

"Turkey! What turkey?"

"The one you were cooking for our supper."

"Oh, father's cook to-night; but there's no turkey."

"What, then?" said Griggs.

"Oh, a mess of tinned beef."

"There, I told you so," cried Chris.

"You never said a word about a mess," growled Griggs; "but I might have known. A nice mess it will be!"

Ned did not hear, for he was questioning and being questioned about the doings of the day, which had been as uneventful in camp as out of it.

Ten minutes later they were sitting near the fire enjoying the waiting supper, and in the reflection from the glowing embers Chris could see Griggs' face beaming with the smiles of satisfaction, as he made liberal use of a pewter spoon, and took semi-circular bites out of a hot bread-cake liberally ornamented with grey wood-ashes.

"How's the mess, Griggs?" said Chris merrily.

Griggs had only one word to say, and it fitted itself for usage as a long-drawn husky drawl.

The word was Prime!



CHAPTER TWENTY SIX.

A VICTIM.

"And you made it all out clear straight and took your bearings, doctor?" said Griggs the next morning, as the last pulls were given to the mule-ropes—the last diamond-hitches made fast.

"Yes, and it will be as easy as steering a boat. I could see the blue mountains from up yonder distinctly, but I'm afraid they're more than a hundred miles away."

"Oh, I don't know, sir; distances are deceiving, and it all depends upon the weather. Why, I've seen a mountain look fifty miles nearer just before rain. Now then, is there anything else we ought to do?"

"I did everything yesterday that I thought right."

"Water-barrels well full?"

"Yes, and every bottle and tin as well."

"Good," said Griggs; "then the sooner we're off the better."

Wilton sighed as they mounted, and gave a last glance at the beauties of the gully in which they had encamped, and again soon after as the little train wound on, with Skeeter's bell chiming to the motion of his head, for at a turn before descending to the lower ground he had a glimpse of the far-spreading desert they were about to attack. It was beautiful in its way, but the grey monotony soon palled upon him who looked, and the eyes eagerly turned again to the refreshing green.

In a couple of hours the last shrub had been left behind, and every one drew his breath hard and set his teeth, in the determination not to be baffled by the lesser troubles likely to hinder their way; but all the same, sighs once more rose for the beauty of the scenes and the refreshing breath of the mountains, which was already rapidly giving place to the hot reek of the sand and salt.

For a time the boys were startled into wonderment at the change which came over the scene as the sun rose higher, for as the hazy mist that overspread the plain began to rise, there before them lay spread-out a wonderful expanse of water, one huge lake extending right to the horizon, dotted here and there with islands of beautiful form.

"Why, I didn't know—" began Chris.

"Nor I," cried Ned. "We shan't want for water."

They pressed on to join the doctor and Griggs, who were once more leading, and before either of the boys could open his lips to question, the former exclaimed—

"There, boys, you never saw the mirage so beautiful as that."

"Mirage! Then it isn't water?"

"Water? No; only a peculiar effect seen in the atmosphere over a heated plain. We shall see no water till we near the mountains on the other side. But there, talk as little as you can, and avoid this heated dust which rises from the mules' hoofs."

"It's wonderful!" cried Ned thoughtfully. "I felt sure that we were near a beautiful lake."

"Such as deceives travellers sometimes."

"Ah, it's bad," said Griggs, "when you're crossing a plain, choking with thirst, and the water-bottles are empty. A sight like that has driven men mad before now with disappointment."

The boys recalled these words over and over again during their journey, for from the very first they realised what a tramp through such a desert meant—the sun came down with scorching power, and it was reflected up from the white sand and salt. At mid-day when they halted where there was no shadow but that cast by their four-footed companions, there was not a breath of air, and the poor brutes stood with hanging heads and drooping ears, panting and even sighing, while when the evening drew near the wind swept boisterously over the plain, but brought no refreshment, for not only was it hot, but it wafted up the fine, irritating dust and produced additional sensations of thirst.

The march was kept on long after sundown, when another halt was made for refreshment; but there seemed to be none, for the amount of water used was small in the extreme, and after about an hour's wait, during which the baggage animals had been relieved of their burdens, the doctor rose.

"Now then," he said sternly, "load up. We must keep on all through the night, and refresh again at daybreak."

"Refresh!" said Wilton dismally.

"Well, rest the mules," replied the doctor. "Then go on again for three or four hours and try and sleep through the hottest part of the day."

"What about keeping our course correctly through the night?" said Bourne.

"There are the stars," replied the doctor, pointing up to the clear sky. "I know exactly what to do. We must keep on now we have started, and bear it like men."

No one spoke, but "buckled to," as Griggs called it, and to relieve the horses the party tramped by their side for the greater part of the night, during the early hours of which Chris grew more and more sleepy; but as they approached "night's dull noon," he grew more wakeful and relieved the tedium by talking to first one and then the other cheerfully enough, and never at a loss for something to say.

"It might be worse, Ned," he said once during the night.

"Couldn't be," was the surly reply.

"Oh, couldn't it! It might come on to rain tremendously. Well, what are you laughing at?" he continued, for Griggs burst out into a hoarse guffaw.

"You," replied the American. "Don't I wish it would rain! Why, it would cool everything. No, I don't know that, for the earth's so hot that all day to-morrow we should be in the midst of steam. It would refresh the horses and mules, though. Nice place this, isn't it?"

"Horrible! What's the use of having all this desert?"

"Don't know," said Griggs bluntly. "You tell me what's the use of having all that sea, and then perhaps I'll tell you."

They relapsed into silence then, and the monotonous tramp went on. There was no kicking or squealing among the mules. Skeeter tramped on with his bell going clang—clang—clang—clang, in accompaniment to his steps, and the other mules followed as if walking like so many shadows in their sleep, while the ponies seemed to follow their masters like dogs, ready to accept every pat on the neck or word of encouragement, and after raising their muzzles to the offered hand and looking through the darkness appealingly, as if asking how long it would be before they came to water.

Morning at last. A halt, packs lowered to the ground, each animal's mouth washed out with about a pint of the precious fluid—water, and then their ration given in the form of very stiff gruel.

All this carefully done before the breakfast was attacked.

"I don't call it a breakfast," grumbled Ned.

"No, I wouldn't," said Chris. "Cheer up; we haven't so far to go now as we had yesterday morning."

"Well, I know that," snarled Ned, who seemed all on edge. Chris called it gritty, and said it was the sand—to himself.

"He gets it on his temper," thought the boy. "How queer it is that being hot and tired and thirsty makes any one so cross."

"Forward!" said the doctor at last, when the packs had been readjusted; and the dreary tramp began again, with the sun getting hotter and hotter every hour.

"Oh dear!" groaned Ned, as they tramped side by side, each with his hand resting upon his pony's neck and holding on by the mane. "That miserable tinful of water! Why, it was only half-a-pint, and it will be hours before we're allowed any more. Why not let us have a pint all at once?"

"Against the rules," said Chris. "You should have made believe, as I did."

"Believe what?"

"No, I didn't believe it," said Chris; "I only played at it. I drank my half-pint very slowly, and pretended it was a pint. You do the same the next time."

"Not going to be such a fool," said Ned gruffly. "It's all too real to play. Bother! Hang it! Yah! I wish there wasn't a scrap of gold in the world."

"But there is, all the same. Come, cheer up, lad."

"Cheer down, you mean. It's getting worse and worse, and I don't believe we shall ever get across this horrible plain. What is there to be cheerful about?"

"Well, here's one thing—we've got away from the Indians. There isn't a sign of them behind."

"Of course there isn't," grumbled Ned. "Indians are not such idiots as to come across a place like this."

"Griggs says they do sometimes."

"I don't believe it; they must always go round. Oh, I do wish we hadn't come."

Somehow or other, the more low-spirited and doleful Ned became, the more hopeful and cheery Chris seemed. Perhaps it was what he called make-believe, and put on by a great effort, but he was the brightest of the party and brought a smile to the lip of every one in turn with his light, trivial remarks, all of which, however, had a suggestion that, in spite of their terrible sufferings, he was looking at the best side of things.

"I say, father," he cried, as mid-day was approaching, "this is a better desert than the other one we crossed."

"I don't see much difference, my boy. Why do you think so?"

"It's so nice and smooth. You don't have to keep stumbling over stones."

"But that's a fault, boy," said his father. "Some of those great stones cast a little shade. Here we have none. Halt!" he cried loudly. "Four hours' rest and sleep."

The mules were unloaded, the ponies' saddles removed, and the tent-sheet was spread over the horizontal raised pole for shade, such as it was; and then no one thought of how, but lay down to sleep, lying motionless till the doctor summoned them again for the resumption of the march, when all began to compare notes.

"Sleep? No, I never had a wink," said Ned. "Who could sleep, with the sun seeming to burn a hole in that canvas?"

"I didn't go to sleep either," said Chris; "but one feels a bit rested with lying down."

"No, one don't," said Ned; and the weary tramp went on, with nothing visible in front of the overstrained eyes but the glare, and a thick misty look as if the atmosphere was full of hot, dusty sand.

The pace at which they went on appeared to be slower, but it was the party's want of perception which diminished and magnified at the same time, principally the latter, in making the journey appear longer than it really was, while that hot afternoon went on in a nightmare-like waking dream which made Ned complain at last that he was going off his head.

"I'm not," said Chris, laughing. "I feel as if I'm always going off my legs."

"What nonsense!" grumbled Ned.

"It isn't; I feel so. It's just as if my body goes on while my feet keep sinking in the sand and won't keep up."

"I wish you wouldn't talk," said Ned.

"Why? Do you want to think?"

"No, of course I don't. I only want to keep on in this half-asleep way; it makes it a little better then."

Another halt at sundown, a fairly good meal, and a refreshing sleep, before the doctor roused all once more towards midnight for the tramp that was to last till about ten o'clock the next day. All was done this time in silence, save that Bourne tried to say hopefully—

"I should think we shall see the mountains quite clearly when day dawns."

But no one answered, for nobody believed they would. A feeling of despondency was making itself too plainly felt, and when broad daylight did at last come all that could be seen was sand and soda everywhere, not so much as a shrub or scrap of grass, only scattered stones here and there, and the party shrank from looking in each other's wild and bloodshot eyes.

"Forward," said the doctor, at last. "We'll keep on till about two hours before noon, and then have a good meal and rest till the sun's low. We must be getting well on to our journey's end."

About this time the doctor edged up close to Griggs and entered into conversation with him in a low tone, "What do you think of it?" he said.

"Don't think at all, sir," was the reply.

"But we shall do it?"

"Must, sir."

"That's right," said the doctor, with a sigh of relief. "We must not think, but we must do it. We've got over the worst of it now, I feel sure."

The doctor was wrong, for there was an unexpected trouble ahead.

Towards the promised time for the halt there was what all took for a more hopeful sign: the plain was growing more stony and undulatory, while sage-brush peeped out in clumps here and there, to be gladly welcomed by the animals, which lost not an opportunity of cropping the bitter shoots.

The sun was getting hotter and hotter, and the doctor drew out his watch, to close it again with a snap which sounded curiously loud in the painful silence.

"Only another hour," he said, in a husky voice, "and then rest and breakfast."

He had hardly uttered the words when one of the mules, which had broken a little way from the line with outstretched muzzle, to nibble a few grey twigs, gave a leap which nearly dislodged its pack, and uttering a dismal squeal which was answered by two or three of its fellows, who turned their weary, straining eyes towards their companion, which now stood snorting and stamping angrily.

"What's the matter with the poor brute?" cried the doctor, who hurried towards the animal, closely followed by Griggs.

"Take care, sir—that," said the latter, in a whisper.

"That? What do you mean?"

"Bitten," said Griggs laconically, as he raised the double rifle that he had unslung, took a rapid aim, and fired the barrel loaded with small shot at what seemed to be an undulating line of grey sand.

The report sounded dull and dead, while as the smoke rose the undulating line of sand became a writhing tangle of something tying itself up into knots, untying itself, lashing the sand and dust up into a little cloud, and then as the dust rose the loathsome-looking length of a big snake became gradually clear to see, with the tail in the air announcing its owner's nature by keeping up a peculiar skirring sound something like the running down of a distant piece of clockwork.

"That's done for him," said Griggs, quietly reloading his piece. "Almost as big a one as they make 'em."

The little party closed round the dying reptile, and then followed the doctor to where he stepped up to the mule, which kept on stamping and making efforts to curve round and bite at its near hind-leg, but could not reach it on account of the pack it bore.

Griggs slung his double rifle and seized the end of the pack-rope, casting loose the load and letting it slide to the ground, while the doctor cautiously approached to examine the place at which the mule now tore fiercely with its teeth.

"Better not, sir," said Griggs warningly.

"But I want to try and help the poor brute," said the doctor.

"Yes, sir; that's nice and humane," said Griggs; "but mules are not horses nor dogs. The poor brute is mad with agony, and you'll be kicked or bitten, to a dead certainty."

"I feel as if I must risk it," said the doctor. "I might inject ammonia, and save its life."

He approached closer, holding out one hand and speaking soothingly to the poor beast; but it turned upon him viciously and snapped at the extended hand like a dog, fortunately biting short, for the snap was sharper than the snatch back made by the doctor's hand.

"I told you so," said Griggs reproachfully. "Yes, we're going to be a mule short this morning."

For the effort seemed to be too much for the animal, which staggered, spread-out its legs far apart, uttered a wild squealing bray, fell over on one side, and lay kicking and plunging as if going at full gallop as it lay.

"You're right, Griggs," said the doctor. "But what strength there must be in that horrible poison! I should not have believed it would be so rapid and have such an effect upon an animal like that."

"It got a full dose of it close up where the skin's thinnest, I suppose; and it was a big rattler, and no mistake."

Just then the mule made an effort to rise to its feet, but sank back to its former position, and its kicking and plunging grew weaker and weaker, till it lay panting, with outstretched neck and heaving flanks, evidently dying fast.

"I might try and do something now," said the doctor thoughtfully, "if the poor beast were held."

"Too late," said Griggs quietly. "I don't understand much about snake poison, but I should say that's running all through the poor thing now."

But Chris's father would not give up. Hide-ropes were cast loose, while he hurried to the load which contained the little case of medicines and surgical appliances which was kept ready for emergencies, and then armed with bottle and syringe he superintended while nooses were placed round the poor animal's neck and four fetlocks, each being tightened and the rope held by some one. Chris and Ned were ordered to the fore-legs, Griggs took the neck rope, and Wilton and Bourne the hind-legs.

At a word from the doctor the ropes were drawn taut and the poor beast stretched out helplessly upon its back, while the doctor seated himself astride, sought for the tiny punctures made by the rattlesnake's poison-fangs, and found them where the skin was thinnest and most devoid of hair, the successful discovery being due to a tiny drop of yellowish gummy matter which had oozed out.

A caustic was applied to this as soon as the tiny wound had been freely lanced and set bleeding, and then with the proper instrument a strong application of ammonia was forced into one of the mule's larger veins, and all with the slightest of resistance being offered. Lastly, encouraged by the animal's quiescence, a strong stimulative ball was thrust beyond the tongue and seen to pass down the throat.

"I can do no more," said the doctor, "but I should not have been satisfied if I had not tried. Be careful now how you loosen the ropes."

There was no difficulty, for the patient lay as still as if it had been utterly stupefied by the poison, and seemed to all appearance stretched out dead.

Chris looked at Griggs, who loosened his noose last, and the man shook his head.

"Could it breathe while that rope was round its neck?" said the boy.

"Breathe? Yes, of course, my lad. The lariat did not press upon the wind-pipe. There's no strangling in the poor brute's case. It's poison's the matter there. I say, it has wakened us all up."

It was curious to note the effect to which Griggs had drawn attention. Before the mule was stricken every one in the party had been giddy and ready to faint with heat and exhaustion, oppressed by a sense of despair and the dread that the end of the present journey would never be seen; but as soon as a demand was made upon their energies, all the other troubles seemed to be forgotten on the instant, and they worked together heartily and with wonderful spirit, till they all stood watching the motionless mule.

Bourne was the first to draw attention to the state of affairs, as he began wiping away the perspiration that streamed down his face.

"I don't think you've done the poor brute much good, Lee," he said.

"I'm afraid not. I ought to have begun sooner."

"But you've done us a lot," continued Bourne. "Half-an-hour ago I didn't seem to have an ounce of energy left in me. I felt as if there was nothing to do but lie down and die."

"And I felt the same," chimed in Wilton.

"But as soon as the demand was made upon me I forgot everything in the excitement, and I feel now ready to go on for hours."

"Yes," said Wilton; "I feel as if Lee had been injecting new life through my veins. We've got all the benefit, while the poor mule is worse."

"Not much, sir," cried Griggs. "Look at that!"

There was no need for the order, every eye being directed at the injured animal, which after lying quiescent upon its side with outstretched neck and no signs of life save the slow, regular heaving of its flank, suddenly uttered a hoarse shout, gathered itself together, and rose quickly to its feet, to stand breathing heavily and coughing.

"Why, I do believe he's mastering the poison, doctor, and coming round."

There was no reply, every one being intent upon the mule's movements.

The hard breathing gradually ceased, and the poor brute shook itself, stamped with its injured hind-leg heavily, shook itself again, uttered an angry squeal, and curving itself round reached at the wound to bite the skin, acting, as Chris afterwards said, just as if it had been bitten by a fly. The next moment it straightened itself again, stretched out its neck, and whinnied in a way which brought answers from some of its companions, and then dropped upon its knees and rolled over, struggling a little before lying still, its last breath coming in a weary sigh.



CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN.

WON'T YOU SAY GOOD-BYE?

Every eye kept a sharp lookout as soon as the journey was recommenced, and a strong effort was made to place a few miles between the party and a spot evidently infested with the venomous reptiles of whose power such a terrible example had been seen. Plenty of energy too was displayed for quite a couple of hours. Then it died out at once; the boys and animals seemed as if they could go no farther, and a halt was called in about the barest spot they had seen. Several more suitable places had been passed—places where there was a scanty growth of sage-brush, others where the plain was rocky or encumbered with stones; but the doctor's word was "Forward," and the order was obeyed, for in the eyes of the adventurers every bush and every stone appeared to be the haunt of a dangerous enemy.

Where they halted at last the plain all round was thick with a dull silvery haze which intensified the heat of the sun, whose rays seemed to be passing through a burning-glass, and it was only in obedience to desperate efforts that the tent-cloth was stretched for shelter and the animals watered and fed more sparingly than before. The provisions were spread-out, but no one could eat. Every word and look was about the water and directed at the fast-emptying keg that carried it, other vessels having long since been exhausted.

"We must lie here till the sun goes down," said the doctor, almost solemnly, in spite of his effort to speak calmly; "it would be madness to persevere through this heat. Then we must make a brave effort to reach the mountains by morning."

"And if we don't?" said Wilton.

"Don't say if, sir," cried Griggs. "We must do it."

"If there are any to reach," said Bourne, to himself; but his words were heard.

"If there are any!" cried the doctor hoarsely. "I tell you there are. We saw them distinctly, Griggs and I."

"That's so, gentlemen," said the American. "Then you must have lost your way, doctor."

"I have not if there is any truth in a compass. I laid down our course, and we have not deviated a bit. The sun and stars too have endorsed my calculations. Come, lie down and try to sleep. Afterwards we will serve out some more water, and walk all through the night. We must be nearly across now."

There was no answer made to this, every one lying down to try and forget the agonies of the intense heat and thirst in the sleep which would not come.

Chris and Ned were together, and lay so that they could look into each other's eyes despairingly; but neither spoke, closing their lids at last so as not to see, though with no expectation of obtaining the much-needed restful forgetfulness. But it came, and when Chris opened his eyes again it was to see by the dull red glow that evening was close at hand.

He raised himself upon his arm, and the faint sound he made was sufficient to rouse Ned, who also sat up, and looked at him wonderingly, as if he did not quite understand where he was, till Chris bent towards him and whispered—"Come outside."

Ned followed him without glancing at the speaker, and they stood together in the misty heat glow, to note with wonder that some one was moving about from pack to pack and pausing from time to time to pat the mules.

The haze seemed to have thickened with the approaching night, so that the figure was indistinct and hard to see, but after making a few steps Chris said quickly—

"Why, it's Griggs. What's the matter with him? He's staggering about as if looking for something."

"The water-barrels," whispered Ned hoarsely, and he caught Chris by the arm.

"What! He wouldn't," said the boy angrily. "Let's see what he's doing."

The American evidently heard their approach, for he turned to gaze at them strangely; but he made no effort to join them, standing slowly rocking himself to and fro and saving himself from falling by clinging to the mule at whose side he stood.

"What's the matter, Griggs?" said Chris hoarsely.

"Oh, it's you!" was the reply. "I could see you both coming, but you looked swollen up into giants, and I couldn't make it out."

"But what are you doing here?"

"Doing here? Yes, I remember. We must find where the water is to-night, or it will be too late."

"Oh, don't say that," cried Ned, in a hoarse whisper.

"Yes, that's it," said Griggs strangely. "Must find the water to-night, or it will be too late. I'm going to ride on, but I can't find the mustangs."

"They're over yonder," said Ned quickly, pointing to where the ponies could be dimly-seen.

"No; I've been over there, and they're gone."

"Going to ride on?" said Chris, as a thought struck him.

"Yes, before it's too late."

"But you are not in a fit state to ride on, Griggs."

"No. Everything is going round and round. Head's all strange and queer."

"You couldn't sit a horse now."

"No," said the man drowsily, as he laid his arms across the mule's back, falling forward to slide to the ground, for the mule took two or three steps to get out of his way.

"Oh, Chris," groaned Ned, "what shall we do?"

The boy addressed did not reply for some moments, and then he repeated the American's words as if to himself.

The next minute he seemed full of energy, and caught his companion by the shoulder.

"Ned," he said, "let's take the mule with the empty barrels, and ride on to get water."

"Where?" said Ned dismally.

"Amongst the mountains."

"Where are they?"

"Over there," said Chris, pointing.

"Where's over there?"

"To the left of where the sun's going down. That's where we've been making for all the time."

"Ride on?"

"Yes; it will be quickest."

"Come and ask father what he thinks."

"No," said Chris; "it would be losing time."

"We should never find it, and only die of thirst right away from the others."

"We should find it. We must find it, and bring some back."

"But the barrels—they're not empty yet."

"They are," said Chris solemnly. "I stood by this afternoon, and saw every drop drained out."

"Oh!" groaned Ned. "Then it's all over now."

"It isn't, I tell you. We must go."

"We couldn't do it; we're too weak. Come and ask your father what he says."

"It's of no use: I feel sure he's like poor Griggs here. There, the sun's going down, looking red as blood. Quick; the ponies can carry us, and we'll get the mule with the empty barrels between. He'll go then."

"Let's ask Wilton to go."

"Let's try and act like men," cried Chris passionately. "There, you mustn't oppose me. That's the way, straight there by where the sun is sinking. It must be right. You must, you shall come."

One weaker than Chris was then would have been sufficient to overawe Ned in those terrible moments, and he yielded without another word.

The two water-barrels with their linking-chain and the wooden wool-stuffed pack-saddle lay ready, and the mule that had borne them suffered itself to be led to where it stood snuffling at the wooden vessels and passing its tongue about the bung-holes, till they were slung across its back, and then it stood quietly enough, as if instinctively grasping the object of this movement.

As for the ponies, they raised their heads from where they were striving to get a little nourishment from some dust-covered twigs, and whinnied their welcome to their masters when they were saddled and bridled.

All was soon ready, when Chris raised his head to mark exactly where the sun had disappeared—a hard task, for the heat haze was thicker than ever.

"Where's that star?" he said impatiently.

"Which star?"

"That one that goes down of a night three hours after the sun. The one my father used to guide us by in the early part of the night, and said that it was a planet."

"I don't know. I never heard him say anything about it."

"He did to me. There, there. High up; I can see it now; but it looks faint through this thick dusty air, and it's higher up than I thought for. It will be clearer, and lower down by and by."

"Are you going to steer by that?"

"Yes, of course. Ready?"

"No; we must go and tell our fathers what we are going to do."

"No, we mustn't," said Chris stubbornly; "they'd only say we mustn't go, and after what Griggs said I'm sure it's our only chance. We must get water and bring it back, if they're to be saved."

"But are you sure of that? Mayn't they be better in the morning, and ready to go on?"

"Not unless we get back with water. Now then, will you come?"

"I daren't, Chris," said Ned, with a groan; "it's too horrible."

"Then you're afraid?"

"How can I help it? See how dreadful it will be to strike right off into the desert all alone."

"Not so horrible as to stop here and see the others die like that poisoned mule. Come."

"I can't: it's cowardly to go and leave them."

"It isn't," cried Chris; "it's brave, and we shall find the water and bring it back. Come, we're wasting time. Come on."

"I dare not."

"Very well," said Chris. "When father wakes in the morning, tell him what I've done, and why."

"What shall I say?" cried Ned hoarsely.

"That I felt it was the only chance of saving all our lives; and if I don't come back it's because I couldn't find water, Ned."

"And then?"

"Good-bye."

"What do you mean by good-bye?"

"I don't know," said Chris sadly. "Only good-bye."

He held out his hand, but snatched it back and hurried beneath the spread-out tent-canvas, to drop upon his knees close to where the doctor lay plunged in a deep stupor more than sleep.

Chris did not rest there many minutes before he sprang up again and walked hurriedly to where Ned stood with the two ponies and the mule.

"Good-bye," said Chris then.

Ned made no reply, and giving his companion one long reproachful look, Chris placed his foot in the stirrup and sprang up into the saddle.

"Won't you say good-bye?" he cried.

"No," was the reply, almost in a whisper, and with the darkness coming on fast now Chris turned away his head and leaned to the farther side of his pony, to catch hold of the long hide-rope attached to the mule's snaffle-bit. Then pressing the mustang's sides with his heels, the brave little beast stepped off boldly, the mule following close behind at the full length of the lariat, while the boy fixed the star with his eyes and made for it straight through the gathering gloom, which seemed to open out to receive him, and then closed in behind, so that after the first glance backward the boy made no other, for tent-cloth, packs, saddles, and the horses and mules had been absorbed by the haze.

If he had turned his head though, ever so little, he would have been able to see Ned standing by his pony; but he felt that he could not do that for fear of the weak feeling which caused a strange swelling in his throat increasing and causing a breakdown of the determination to which he had come.

"I can't do it," he groaned, as he rode on at a walk, and then repeating the word "Good-bye!" in a whisper, he bent forward a little, gave the hide lariat a jerk, and pressing his pony's sides, went off at an ambling trot, the mule following at once with the two barrels rolling against the wood of the pack-saddle, and with the chains making a peculiar hollow and jingling sound.

"If it were not so hot!" he muttered then, as he strove to think only of the object he had in view. "We ought to get over a long distance before daylight, for I feel as if I shall be able to do it, and the mountains may be near when the broad daylight comes."

He was getting along at a fair pace now, gazing straight at the planet and listening to the rattle of the two barrels, when his pony uttered a sharp neigh, which was followed by a squeal from the mule—two challenges uttered by those whose hearing was keener than their master's, and responded to by another neigh from behind.

In less than a minute, and before Chris had made up his mind which of the ponies was following, there was the beat of hoofs, and something shadowy closed in from the haze behind, to come close alongside.

"Who's that? You, Ned?"

"Yes," came in a husky voice.

"What do you want?"

"You know. I can't let you go all alone."

"What!" cried the boy, in a hoarse, cracked voice. "You don't mean—"

"Yes, I do. You must be right."

It was the speaker who held out a dimly-seen hand now, one that was grasped and held while the ponies closed in so much together that the boys' legs touched as they cantered steadily on straight for a line drawn down in imagination from the planet now twinkling brightly—the guiding star which both boys mentally prayed might lead them to the object of their quest.

Then cantering steadily till the ponies dropped into a walk to avoid rough ground, the two lads rode on and on, with the barrels rolling behind, and the hours gently gliding by unheeded, till the glittering star sank lower and lower and dropped at last into the great bed of haze which seemed to extinguish it all at once, but not until Chris had marked down another to take its place as their goal.

Neither spoke, for their heads were too full of the object they had in view, with its hopes and many fears.

The ponies kept on straight for the starry guides, not deviating in the least from the point at which their heads had been directed by their riders, and the mule followed steadily behind, with the empty barrels keeping up their hollow, rumbling sound, and it was this that seemed to form a strange lulling accompaniment to the boys' thoughts, which in the course of their progress gradually darkened into a confused nightmare-like state. It was not sleep, but a stupor in which they kept on their horses instinctively, from no voluntary effort of their own. The state of exhaustion and weakness into which they had been lapsing during the perilous journey must have had much to do with their feelings, and robbed them of the power to feel more than a dull, numbing pain which came and went as their steeds ambled or walked unchecked or guided by rein, for even the lariat had glided from Chris's fingers and trailed along behind the mule upon the sand. Not that it mattered, for the mongrel beast kept steadily on behind its companions, trotting or cantering or dropping into a walk as they gave it the cue, but never once stopping to rest or attempting to browse.

Always onward, straight onward, while the riders sank deeper and deeper into their strange stupor-like state, which, in one faint struggle back into partial consciousness, Chris had likened to the closing-in of the sultry haze which seemed to him to press upon him as if it grew so thick that it held him fast what time he was being urged through it.

Then utter unconsciousness of everything, which lasted without change and as if the very calm, restful, painful end of all things had come.



CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT.

A MULE'S SCENT.

Ned had much the same account to give as Chris of his sensations about the waking up on hearing a loud snorting and splashing, accompanied by the squealing of the mule and the rattling of the tubs and chain.

Sleep or stupor, whichever it was, the boys had kept their seats during the night, and at early dawn when Chris opened his eyes, half startled by the splashing, he saw what looked like a grey plain covered with dried-up salt, stretching right away to a thick bank of what appeared to be clouds.

Then as he sat staring wonderingly, he saw that the salt plain seemed to be in motion, little waves passing away from where he sat; and then, as the truth gradually dawned upon his misty brain, he slipped off his pony, to stand knee-deep in water and begin to scoop up the soft cool fluid and drink.

He had swallowed several mouthfuls before his brain grew clearer, and then his first matter-of-fact un-dreamlike thought was of Ned, and he cried aloud—

"Water, water!"

The answer was a gurgling sound from somewhere to the right, and turning in that direction just as there was a tremendous splashing, he became aware of the fact, dimly-seen in the grey dawn, that his companion was also standing knee-deep and drinking; the ponies were calmly drawing in the refreshing fluid between their slightly-parted lips, and the mule was wallowing and trying to roll over, every now and then sending its legs in the air, for them to come down again and raise quite a spray, for the effort to turn right over was a failure, the two barrels secured to the animal's back acting like buoys and keeping afloat.

The next moment, regardless of his clothes, Chris dropped upon his knees, bent down till his lips were within touch of the water, and then he drank, so it seemed to him, as he had never drunk before.

Breathless after a while he raised his head again.

"Ned! Oh, isn't it glorious!"

There was no reply, for his companion was now bending down and drinking with avidity.

But at last he too raised his head at the same time that the mule ceased splashing, stood up in the water, and gave itself a tremendous shake, before lowering its muzzle and drinking like the mustangs.

"Ned!" cried Chris. "Why don't you say something?"

"I can't," was the reply. And then: "I say, is it true, or only part of the long dream?"

"True, true!" cried Chris. "But look sharp. Let's fill the barrels and get back to camp."

"Hah!" ejaculated Ned in a long sigh. "Fill the barrels—get back. Yes, I'm beginning to be able to think now. My head felt all shut up and as if it wouldn't go. We have found water, then."

"Yes, and we've been drinking, and—What are you doing?"

There was no answer, for Ned did not hear, from the simple fact that he had suddenly plunged his head right under water, to hold it there for nearly a minute, before raising it streaming.

"Oh, Chris," he cried, "do that; it's lovely!"

His comrade wanted no more inciting to follow the example set, keeping his head below the surface in despite of the water thundering in his ears, till he was obliged to raise it and breathe.

"If we only had time for a swim," he cried, as he stood up panting once more.

"Yes, let's have one."

"No," said Chris; "the barrels—we must fill them and get back."

"Yes, of course," cried Ned. "I can't think properly yet. My head's all muddly. But how can we fill them? If we take them off can we lift them on the mule's back again?"

"Perhaps not," cried Chris. "But I know," he added, after a pause.

"Do you? Oh, my head's so muddly. Let's be quick and get back. I'm beginning to think now. Why, what wretches we are, drinking away here, and my father must be dying of thirst."

"Yes. Don't talk," cried Chris huskily. "Here, get to the other side of the mule and take hold of the bit."

Ned stared, but obeyed, and together they led the animal between them, wading farther into the lake, with the water gradually getting deeper, when as it grew breast-high Ned burst out with—

"Yes, the water seems to have melted something in my head, and I can think now. I say, are there any alligators here?"

"I don't know," replied Chris. "Perhaps.—Come on, you brute!" he roared, for the mule began to jib and refused to go any farther in when from its own natural buoyancy and that of the barrels its legs refused to touch the bottom.

Chris's fierce shout was accompanied by a heavy dig in the side from his knee, an act which Ned imitated with the result that the mule snorted, tossed up its head, and then lowered it, prior to kicking up its heels. But in performing the evolution of lowering its muzzle its mouth went down into the cool water, and the opposition ceased in the enjoyment of drawing in mouthfuls of the limpid element, while with all four legs separated to the utmost, the animal now refused to move.

"You brute!" roared Ned.

But the mule was quite aware of that fact. It knew it was one of the most despised of brutes, and had been told so till it ceased to have any effect, while now that it was drinking, whip or spur, kick or blow would have had no effect.

"Never mind," cried Chris. "I know—we can manage." As he spoke he rapidly opened the tompion-like cover of one bung-hole, letting it rattle down by the side of the empty barrel and hang by its little brass chain, and then dragged at the barrel, trying vainly to bring the opening down to a level with the water.

"Oh, do something, Ned," shouted Chris. "We ought to be on the way back. Shove your barrel up as high as you can."

Ned thrust his shoulder under the side and forced the barrel up, and the wooden pack-saddle gave a little at the same time.

"That do?" he cried.

"Yes, splendid!" For by pressing down with all his force Chris got the opening level at last with the water, which began to stream in till its weight rendered the task less difficult, and by degrees the barrel kept its own position, the air within going out in strange hollow sounds as it was dislodged.

"Now I'm more than half full, Ned," cried Chris eagerly. "I'll hoist up my side while you draw your barrel down."

This task proved more difficult, but after a few tries a little water rushed into the empty receptacle. Then a little more and a little more, till Chris thrust upward with all his might, and the clear fluid ran in with a rush, till the mule raised its head, shook the drops from its muzzle, and whinnied.

Then, feeling far less buoyant from what it had drunk and the way in which the light barrels began to be turned into weights which kept it steady, there was no more resistance to being led in deeper, so that with very little effort the casks were lowered in turn till the water ceased to flow in, and the tompions were replaced and safely secured.

The water was now, at every movement made, passing in little waves right over the mule's spine, and there it stood showing its teeth as if preparing to bite, but made no vicious effort, only stood blinking its eyes and turning its ears in all directions as if in the height of enjoyment.

As soon as the second barrel was secured, "full to the bung," the mule's head was turned.

"Go on!" shouted Chris, and it slowly walked out of the shallowing water, till it stood dripping on the sandy marge.

"Now," cried Chris, "I'm going to lead my mustang in as far as I can wade, so as to get regularly soaked, and it will freshen the beasts too."

"Yes, capital. Shall we take off the saddles?"

"No, we won't stop."

The ponies were led in till only their necks were out of the water, and then turned towards the shore; but they stopped twice to drink, and were approaching the spot where the mule stood, when Chris uttered a cry and caught at his saddle to save himself, his pony at the same moment making a plunge and snorting violently.

"What's the matter?" cried Ned anxiously.

"Some big fish struck at me suddenly. No, I know, it must have been a big alligator."

Ned's jaw dropped and his eyes opened very wide as he began to splash through the water as hard as he could go, the pony following willingly enough, but only to snort and plunge as a swell of water rose before them where the water was very shallow, and a dark, bark-like, glistening back was seen for a moment, followed by a tapering tail, as a reptile glided by.

"I wonder whether the brutes would bite," said Ned.

"I shouldn't like to trust them," was the reply. "But oh, what a change since last night," continued the boy, half-wild with delight, as the sun began to show a little over the edge of the horizon, flooding the world with golden light and turning the pale, silvery lake as it were into glowing fire.

The boys only glanced for a moment or two at the glorious scene before them of lake and undulating country backed by mountains. Then, after tying the trailing lariat about the mule's neck, they mounted their ponies, all dripping as they were, ready for the march to camp, but only to suffer a chill of misery as the same thought struck both—

Which was the way back?

"Why, we shall never find them!"

"Coming here as we did, fast asleep as we must have been," groaned Ned.

"The mule must have smelt the water far-off," said Chris, "and found the way here."

"Yes, but he won't find the way back to camp. What shall we do? What shall we do?"

There was a piteous, despairing ring in Ned's voice as he sat gazing woefully in Chris's eyes.

"We might go right away," said the latter thoughtfully, and then in a tone full of exultation, "We're a pretty pair," he cried; "look how plain the hoof-marks are in the sand. Why, we've only got to pick up the trail and follow it back. There, you go that way and I'll go this. It can't be far away."

"No, of course not," cried Ned, urging his pony forward in the direction indicated, while Chris started in the other, keeping close to the water's edge, where the sand was firm.

But the mule was not going to be left alone, and followed Chris's mount. Not for far. Within a hundred yards there were the hoof-prints of the animals, going straight into the shallow lake on one side and on the other leading straight away over the sandy plain, which here came right up to the water's edge.

"Coo-ee!" shouted Chris, and Ned came cantering back.

"Found the trail?" he cried.

"Yes, here it is, with the mule leading. That's where he walked right into the lake. And we've been abusing mules and calling them names ever since I can remember. Ned, I'll never be a brute to a mule again. Will you lead?"

"No. You found the trail. Go on, and I'll come last. As fast as you can."



CHAPTER TWENTY NINE.

DESPERATE STRAITS.

Chris uttered a wild whoop of delight.

"Water! Water! Water!" he shouted. "Here we come!"

The announcement was intended for those he had left at the camp, but the words seemed to be lost in the immensity of space. But he did not heed this, only pressed on, to halt at the end of a hundred yards for the others to come up. His pony had lowered its head as if recognising the track and started off at a canter; but Chris realised directly that the progress did not depend upon him but the mule, which at starting refused to go in advance of Ned, and stubbornly stood still, and no urging would make it move.

"Come on first, Ned," shouted Chris, as the efforts of his companion proved to be in vain.

"Oh, he is a brute!" cried Ned, but he did as he was ordered, following his leader, and the mule, heavily-laden as it was, lowered its head and began to lounge along last at the regular mule pace.

"Oh, but this won't do," cried Chris, as they came up. "I never thought of it when we were filling the barrels. It'll take no end of time to get back like this."

He led on again in silence, seeing the trail marked plainly enough, and wonderfully straight, the animals having pretty well always stepped in their leader's tracks. But at the end of a few minutes' advance at a walk he turned his head to shout back—

"Oh, Ned, Ned, what shall we do? Everything, you see, depends on this mule, and he'll only keep to his regular pace. His load's too heavy. We must run half of it away."

"What! Waste that water? No."

"But it seems so heavy."

"He wouldn't go a bit faster if you poured away nearly all."

"I'm afraid not," groaned Chris. "What can we do? I say, I wonder how far it is to camp. Can you guess, Ned?"

The boy shook his head.

"It must be," continued Chris, as he rode on, wrenching right round in his saddle, and trusting to his mustang to follow the back trail, "just as far as the mule would walk from the time we started till daybreak this morning. Hours and hours and hours, all going so slowly, for we should have been woke up if they had broken into a fast trot. I'm afraid we must spill out some of the water."

"But I tell you that this slow wretch wouldn't go a bit faster. He's walking now just at the same rate as when the barrels were empty."

Chris felt that these were the words of truth, and remained silent. He would have gone behind the animal and bullied or urged it forward with blows, in spite of his late words, but he felt confident that the result would only be a stubborn fit, kicking or perhaps lying down.

A short time before the boy had felt in the highest glee. Success had attended their effort, and there seemed to be nothing else to do but hurry back to the fainting sufferers with the life-giving fluid and receive their thanks and praise, while now, in addition to the bitter despair and misery, there was a fresh sensation which he connected then with a feeling of sinking that made him gaze piteously at his companion, but only to be struck with his sunken eyes and agonised aspect.

"Don't look like that, Ned," he said. "Why, you're worse than I am."

"I can't help it. I feel quite ill. We shall never get back to them in time. Father looked as if he wouldn't be able to get up again."

"So did my father. I never saw him look so dreadful before. He must be in an awful state, or else he'd have been able to take something from the medicine-chest to help him hold out longer. But there, it's of no use to give way like this. We must get back to camp with this water. Do you hear? We must!"

"Yes," said Ned mournfully. "We must.—Chris."

"Yes?"

"If I fall off my nag and can't get up again—"

"Oh, don't talk like that. It's idiotic."

"I can't help it. If I fall over and lie still on the sand, I want you to promise me something."

"Then I shan't," cried Chris shortly. "Get out! You're going to pretend that you'll lie down and die, and you're going to make your will."

"No; it wasn't exactly that; but if you get back to them and are saved, you may have my four-bladed knife with the stone-pick and lancet in it."

"Oh, hang your old knife!" cried Chris ungraciously. "I don't want it. Mine's ever so much better, and doesn't hurt your hand when you're cutting anything. Now, no nonsense! Fancying you're going to fall off your pony and not being able to get up again! Why, if you go on fancying such things as that in the hot sunshine, you're pretty well sure to turn giddy and go down. Look here."

"Yes?" sighed Ned.

"I feel just as bad as you do, but I don't begin a lot of nonsense about leaving you my knife.—Such stuff!"

"It isn't stuff," sighed Ned. "I'm horribly ill now. So faint and strange."

"Have some water. I'll get some out."

"No, no, no; I've had enough. I don't feel a bit parched and thirsty now, for the water seems to have gone right into me from my wet clothes."

"The same here," said Chris, after a glance over his shoulder to see if his pony was keeping to the return trail, and being convinced that he was. "I could talk like you, for I never felt so ill before. I say, how one's things are drying in the sunshine! I've quite done dripping."

"Yes; but, Chris, I haven't told you all I was going to say."

"And you needn't. You were going to say that I might have your German silver pocket-comb too."

"I wasn't," said Ned reproachfully. "But you may, and everything else I've got, for I shall never want them again."

"Yes, you will, stupid. Oh, I say, don't be such a Molly."

Ned shook his head.

"Won't you listen to me?" he said piteously.

"Why, of course I will, old chap. I'm only talking like this because I want you to be plucky. Ned, you're not going to lie down and die. You can't—you shan't. I've felt like this for the last half-hour, but I won't let myself believe that it's all through the despair and misery we feel."

"But it is, Chris. I'm glad I came with you, though," said the poor fellow sadly.

"So am I, and it was very jolly and chummy of you. Just like you, Ned. We've often had rows, but we always made it up again, and I never liked you any the less. Never half so much as I did when you came trotting after me to look for this water."

"I like to hear you say that," said Ned, smiling faintly. "If you get safe back I want you to think still in this way after I've gone."

"After you've gone!" cried Chris passionately. "Oh, if we'd only plenty of time and weren't so faint, I should like to have the worst row with you that we ever tried to fight out. You're not going to lie down and die. It would be absurd after we've got the water, and—"

Ned started and bent forward, holding on to the pommel of his saddle with both hands to steady himself, for as he rode almost backwards Chris suddenly clutched at nothing and nearly fell from his seat.

"There, there!" panted Ned. "Oh, don't fall, Chris! One of us is enough. You mustn't fall and lie there, because I want you to do something for me."

"Yes," said Chris softly, and with a wild-eyed stare at his companion.

"I want you to tell father that I held out to the last, and tried hard to do my duty as he told me to always."

"Yes—yes," sighed Chris hoarsely. "I'll—I'll tell him, if I get back to camp. But oh, Ned, it is so hard now, when we've got the water. All the strength has gone from me. I say, tell me, if we both fall out of our saddles and lie there, do you think that the ponies will go on to the camp?"

"No; I'm sure they won't. They'll stop beside us, looking down in our faces with their big, patient eyes. They won't stir for ever so long."

"Oh!" groaned Chris faintly. "And we shall have got the water for nothing."

"No," said Ned. "The ponies will stop, but the mule won't; he'll keep right on along the back trail, and they'll get the water after all."

"Ah!" sighed Chris, with a bright light coming into his eyes. "Then it won't have been for nothing."

"What are you doing?" said Ned, more strongly, as he saw his comrade begin to unfasten the knotted silk kerchief about his neck.

"Going to tie this to the chain. Father will know it's mine, and that it means good-bye, and—"

The effort was too much. The giddiness from which he was suffering mastered him, and he fell over sidewise on to the fast-heating sand, but with his left foot fast in the stirrup-iron, while the pony kept on a few feet before stopping short and turning to gaze down in his rider's face.

"Chris! Chris!" cried Ned, checking his pony as he closed up, while the mule went tramping on with its heavy load as if nothing whatever was the matter.

To the last speaker's wonder and horror, as the excitement of his comrade's mishap drove his own sufferings into the background, Chris raised himself a little and extricated his foot from the stirrup, before hauling himself up by the leather, to stand steadying himself by the saddle, laughing the while what sounded to Ned like a wild, hysterical laugh that was to be his last.

"Chris!" he cried.

"It's all right," gasped the boy, struggling to grow calm. "That tumble has knocked the faintness out of me. I know now—what's—what's the matter with us both."

"Chris!" rang out again.

"I know, I tell you—I felt a little while ago—oh, so ill, as if something was coming on and we were both going to die. But I know now. Can't you see, Ned?"

There was no answer.

"Then I'll tell you. What did you have to eat yesterday?"

"Eat? I couldn't eat, only drink that little drop of water."

"And I couldn't, and didn't have above half a meal the night before. Then we've been through so much ever since, and drunk all that water, and the sun's been beating down on us."

"What!" cried Ned, staring. "You mean it's because we're so hungry?"

"Why, of course it is. Now, tumble off your pony and lie down and die if you dare!"

"Chris!"

"That's it, I tell you, and you know it is. Oh dear, I feel so light-headed, and so empty and faint, and nothing else the matter with me at all, only that I'm so miserable because we can't get on faster."

Ned sat staring and thinking hard, but he said no word in contradiction of his companion's theory.

And there they stayed for quite ten minutes, Ned seated in his saddle, Chris standing resting against his, and with his pony pressing against him as if to keep him upright.

"Look at old Skeeter's brother," said Chris, at last. "He must be his brother, because he's so like him."

Ned looked in the same direction as his companion, to see that the mule had gone plodding on along the trail, flapping one ear to keep off the flies, and looking as if nothing would prevent it from going straight back to the camp.

"I say, you feel better now, don't you?" said Chris suddenly.

"I feel very ill and weak and giddy."

"That's how I feel," said Chris, "and I'm afraid to try and get up into the saddle again. I know I shall go down bang."

"No, no, don't," cried Ned excitedly. "Here, I'll get on the other side, and take hold of your hand."

"Shan't I pull you down too?"

"No," said Ned, speaking more strongly; "I won't let you."

"Catch hold, then," cried Chris, as his comrade urged his nag alongside that of Chris, and then as they joined hands, the latter raised his left foot to the stirrup, sprang up, and dropped into the saddle with a sigh of relief.

"Well done us!" he panted. "Who'd ever have thought that being half starved would make two fellows feel like that?"

"It was awful, wasn't it?"

"Not so horrible as thinking about them all dying for want of water. Oh, Ned, Ned, Ned, can't we get one barrel on your or my pony and ride on fast?"

"No," said Ned decisively. "We couldn't hold it on, and we couldn't go fast."

"And we couldn't fasten the other on the mule's back. Is there nothing else we could do?"

"I can't see anything but going right on. Let's catch up to the mule now and keep on talking so as to forget about being so faint. I say, how fast one's clothes dry!"

"Yes," said Chris; "and how cool one feels in spite of the sun coming down as if it would roast us. Do you know why it is?"

"No," replied Ned.

"I'll tell you, then. Father told me once. He said it was one of the laws of physics."

"I say, don't talk about physic now."

"Who was talking about physic, stupid? I said physics—natural science. Father said that in evaporation a feeling of coolness always comes on. That's what we feel now as the water in our clothes evaporates. He showed me how to cool water by filling a bottle and wrapping it in flannel, then keeping it wet and standing it in the sun."

"Yes, I knew that made it cooler, but I didn't know it had anything to do with evaporation. Then the water in the barrels must be nice and cool."

"Nay, not it," said Chris sharply. "That's getting warm, because the outside of the barrels is not kept wet.—Well, old Skeeter's brother, how are you getting on?" he cried, as they rode up one on either side of the mule, the only answer being the cocking of one ear in the speaker's direction, the other at Ned.

"Let's give up worrying about it, Chris," said Ned at last. "We can do nothing else but keep on as we are, only hoping and praying that they're all lying down trying to sleep till we come. It's impossible to get on any faster."

"Quite," said Chris despairingly. "I will hope and feel sure that all will turn out as it should. It must. It shall. I say, how long have we been coming since we started?"

"I don't know, and I can't think," was the reply.

"I say, I can't see the lake now," cried Chris. "It's all hidden by the thick hot haze that has closed in."

"Can you see the beautiful country and the mountains there still?"

"No; nothing but the thick, hot, transparent mist and the sand and sage-brush everywhere, behind, just as it is now in front. I say, how well old muley keeps to the trail! I wish it wasn't so hazy; we should see the tent perhaps then."

Ned turned off the conversation at a tangent, for the sight of a clump of stones gave him a subject full of interest.

"Stones and rocky bits, with little heathery-like bushes. I say, Chris, keep a good lookout. Isn't this the sort of country for rattlesnakes?"

"Ugh!" ejaculated Chris. "I say, how horrible if the mule were to step on one of the nasty reptiles now."

"We should have to fit the barrels on one of the ponies then, and take turns at walking. But let's try and guide them more away from the heath."

They tried, but the mule resisted their efforts at once and showed a stern determination to keep to the trail, while the ponies backed it up on either side.

Then the conversation dropped, was resumed again twice, but in vain at last, for the heat and exertion were telling upon the poor lads now to a terrible extent. Their eyes grew wild and bloodshot, the faintness came on with increased force and refused to be exorcised, with each brain swimming at first a little, then more and more, till a heavy stupefying state of torpor supervened, and it was no longer the riders that directed their four-footed friends, but the latter leading them on and on hour after hour.

Though the boys could not realise the fact, the sun had crossed the meridian and was slowly beginning to descend, when there was a sudden arousing from the torpor-like state, brought about by the mule coming to a standstill with its legs spread-out widely, hanging its head, while its drooping ears and starting eyes told plainly enough that it was suffering acutely from heat and exhaustion, its eyes seeming to say mutely—

"The burden is too heavy, masters; if I stir another foot I must drop."

"Can we do something—open one of the barrels and soak a handkerchief to hold it to the poor thing's mouth?" said Chris loudly—he meant it to be, but it was only a hoarse, harsh sound which came from his lips, while when he descended from his saddle to step towards the barrel nearest to him, it suddenly seemed to fade away into the haze through which they had been passing, and in his effort to catch it poor Chris fell headlong to the ground and lay staring blankly upwards at Ned.



CHAPTER THIRTY.

WAKING UP.

"Oh, Chris!" groaned Ned, as he dismounted feebly, to fall on one knee by his companion's side.

Chris's eyes followed every movement, and he seemed to hear what was said, for he smiled faintly.

"That's you, isn't it, Ned?" he said slowly. "Can't see. Black spots floating about in front, and everything going round and round."

Ned's answer was another groan, for the trouble was on the increase.

The poor mule had done its best and kept on till it could do no more. Just then it made an effort to go on again, looking wistfully at Ned, in whose acts it evidently read an order for it to advance.

Drawing its legs together into a more natural attitude, it took a step or two, stumbled, and then dropped upon its knees, made another effort to rise, but failed, and doubled its hind-legs under it, to crouch so that the two barrels rested on the sand; and then the poor beast uttered a long hoarse sigh as if of relief, while for a time it made no further effort to stir.

Ned glanced at the ponies, the thought occurring to him that he ought to secure their reins; but they did not display the slightest desire to leave their companion, only stretching out their necks towards the mule and breathing hard before pressing forward slightly, to begin snuffing at one of the barrels.

This act set Ned's wits working, and he recalled what Chris was about to do. He was so faint and giddy that it required a painful effort even to stir, but he caught the kerchief from his companion's hand and began to unfasten the well-secured stopper of the nearest barrel, which stood steady enough now in the sand.

This done, he thrust in about half of the kerchief, let it soak full of water, raised it carefully so that every superabundant drop should fall back into the barrel, and then, pressing open Chris's lips, squeezed a few drops between them, more and more as they were swallowed with avidity, and passed his wet hands over the prostrate lad's temples.

This he did again and again, suffering an acute longing to treat himself in the same way, but resisting the temptation, till Chris closed his eyes with a weary sigh, his lips tightening together, and he lay motionless.

Ned soaked the handkerchief again, and pressed its contents in his own mouth, swallowing the moisture with avidity, noting the while that the two ponies were licking the farther barrel and breathing hard, as if they could feel the cool fresh odour of the water playing in their nostrils, while at the same time the mule, pinned down by the weight of the two barrels, strained its neck round and whinnied, as it looked piteously in his face.

The look had its effect, for the end of the kerchief was once more thrust into the barrel, allowed to soak, and then drawn out.

"I don't know how we're going to manage," thought the boy, as he held the dripping corner of the kerchief towards the mule's muzzle; but the poor brute did, and acted without hesitation, making a snap as sharply delivered as that of a dog, and catching the end between its strong teeth. Then it gave its head a toss, and treating the water-bearing piece of fabric as if it were a wisp of wet grass, drew it, dripping and cool, right into its mouth, the sharp tug or two given overcoming Ned's resistance.

Before the boy could recover from his surprise there was a quick juicy sound of champing in accord with the movement of the mule's jaws, a gulp, and the kerchief had gone.

"You stupid brute!" cried Ned indignantly. "What am I to do now?"

Common-sense suggested what should be his next proceeding, and that was to take off his own handkerchief and his felt hat, which he turned inside out. Then laying it beyond the mule's reach, he soaked the fresh kerchief till it would hold no more, squeezed it so that the contents fell into the reversed crown of his hat, and repeated the act till about half of half-a-pint of dirty water lay ready. This he held out to the mule, which plunged in its lips and rapidly sucked out every drop.

Repeating the process, Ned managed to give each of the ponies enough to wash out its mouth.

"If I only had a straw or a reed!" thought the boy; but there was hardly a twig of the sage-brush to be seen, and he shook his head in despair.

But there was something else to do. The mule was fidgeting, and any restive action on the beast's part might mean waste of water; so he hurriedly closed the tompion, leaving its brass chain so that there was no risk of loss; and this was hardly done before, refreshed by its portion, the mule made a desperate effort to rise, but only got its fore-legs well planted, and then sank back. It made two more trials, but with less and less success, and then, apparently fully aware of the fact that the weight carried was too much for it, resignation ensued, and the poor beast lay partly over on its side between the barrels, and made no further effort beyond seeking for a restful position in which to lay its heavy head. This was fully stretched out in the sand, where the last thing Ned seemed to see was the twitching of the poor brute's long ears to rid itself of the flies which attacked it as if under the idea that they had found something dead.

The sun's intense heat soon made the boy aware of the fact that his head was bare, and restoring his hat to its proper shape he replaced it, finding it cool enough to enable him to think a little more clearly of his position and ask himself whether he could do anything more. He asked Chris the same question that he had put to himself, but there was no reply, for it was evident that the poor fellow had sunk into a complete state of stupor, and he was soon aware that he was fast following his friend's example. For the soft black spots began to float before his eyes, growing larger and larger, till they seemed to blot out the objects that had begun to sail slowly round and round.

There was a little reaction after this, and he saw the mule's eyes closed and the two mustangs sniffing again at the farther barrel, and heard them sigh as if in weary disappointment at not being able to get at the contents. But Ned felt no trouble, for everything seemed to be restful now that he was convinced that he could do no more after doing his best.

There was the glowing haze all around, and the terrible silence of the dusty plain, with the nearest objects standing out with wonderful clearness, till they began at last to sail slowly round and round him, while the black spots formed in front of his eyes—tiny distinct specks at first, which gradually swelled and swelled till they grew soft and blurred; blacker and blacker too, as they blotted out the moving objects, and finally the glowing, hot, silvery haze; and then all was black darkness and silence profound.

At last.

Ned did not know what that meant. He did not hear any words spoken nor how it was. It was his coming back into a state of consciousness, and all he felt was that it somehow was at last. Time had nothing to do with it, and the first consistent thought was that it rained hard; the next that something was stinging his nostrils as if hundreds of tiny points were being inserted into the soft, delicate skin.

Soon after he seemed to be listening to people talking a long way off. They were making remarks about some one else, but he had no idea what, till it was as if something cracked in each ear and he started with his eyes wide open, to see that the sky above was all of a deep red glow, and on looking round him there were faces and mules, and packs lying just as if they had been taken off the mules' backs.

"He's coming round now," said a familiar voice, and then he started again, to find that everything was clear, and that he was looking in the doctor's face.

"Is he?" said Ned sharply, in a voice that he did not know for his own. "Has he been very bad?"

"Worse than any of us, Ned, my boy," said another familiar voice.

"Is that you, father?" cried Ned.

"What's left of me, my boy. I began to think we should never shake hands again. You two fellows saved our lives."

Ned was silent, and lay with his hand pressed to his forehead, waiting till he could quite grasp that which seemed to be dancing strangely in his brain.

"No, father," he said at length; "I recollect now. We did try, but we couldn't. We broke down."

"Yes," said the doctor; "but just where we could find you when we were struggling on and nearly at the last gasp."

"I don't understand you, Mr Lee.—Who's that—Griggs?"

"Yes, it's me," said the American, "but I'm feeling pretty thin, my lad, I can tell you. May I shake hands?"

"Why, of course!" cried Ned.

"Come away from him now," said the doctor in a whisper. "I'm rather troubled about his head."

"Oh, it don't ache now," said Ned sharply, "and things are not going round now. But you said Chris was better?"

"Yes. He's sleeping under the tent. I kept you here because there is more air."

"Where are we?" asked Ned anxiously.

"Just in the same spot as when we found you, with the mule broken-down under the heavy load of water."

"Of course. I remember it all now," cried Ned excitedly. "I broke down first, and after I got better it was poor old Chris. But he's all right now?"

"He will be soon," said the doctor.

"Can you tell us how far it is to the water, Ned?" said Wilton, making himself heard for the first time.

"No," said Ned thoughtfully, "but I'm afraid it's a long way. Why?"

"Because we've finished one of the barrels and half of the other, my boy," said Bourne. "We must be getting on again, then, doctor?"

"Yes; as soon as they can sit their horses."

"Can't be very far, sir," said Griggs, "because of the time they were away. Say, Ned, my lad, can you tell us when you started back with the water?"

"Yes," said the boy; "directly after sunrise."

"And when did the mule cave in?"

"I don't quite know, because my head felt so thick; but it was when the sun was hottest. I think I could show you the way, though."

"Oh, we can find the way, squire; you have written that down clearly enough in the sand. Tell us one thing more, though," said Griggs. "What did you find—a rock spring or a pool?"

"A great lake that stretched out as far as we could see."

There was a faint cheer at this, and the boy smiled.

"But there are big 'gators in it."

"I don't care if there are crocodiles in it half-a-mile long," cried Griggs. "We're going to have our share. Then it's beyond the salt desert?"

"Oh yes. Beautiful green country, with mountains and trees."

"Within half-a-day's journey," said the doctor. "Then I think we may give the poor beasts what water there is left."

"Yes, sir," said Griggs. "I'll give 'em my share; but I never grudged parting with it so much before in my life. Shall I begin?"

"Yes, poor things; but they will not have much apiece even now."

Griggs laughed.

"No, sir," he said. "Skeeter would get outside the whole half-barrel if you gave him a chance, and then roll round the whites of his eyes and ask for more."

By the time the water had been given to the beasts, all but a small portion reserved for the two boys, it was dark, with the stars just dimly-seen through the haze. All was ready, and the mules and horses stepped out briskly, the last drink having worked wonders; but probably the wonderful instinct of the mules taught them that they were nearing the end of their horribly toilsome journey. Perhaps it is not too much to say that by some subtle power of communication they had learned the fact from those which had made the journey before. Certainly our dumb friends do communicate good and bad information to one another.

Neither Chris nor Ned seemed much the worse since they had had a light meal, but sat their ponies well enough once more, while there was no need for their guidance, for the mule which had borne the water-barrels, unladen now, having been placed with the bell-bearer in front, started off freely enough, and needed no guidance to keep it to the track.

Naturally enough the two boys rode that night knee to knee with the doctor and Bourne, each giving and receiving a faithful account of their proceedings, and the lads too learning exactly what had taken place on the awakening at the camp, when, utterly worn out and suffering, not one of the four felt in a fit condition to stir, Griggs, naturally the strongest of the party and best able to cope with the arduous work, being by far the worst.

But he was the first to recover upon the discovery being made that the boys were gone. In fact, he took note of everything during the first few minutes, and was able to point out that they had taken with them a mule bearing the two water-barrels, and also found and pointed out the trail the two ponies and the mule had made in the parching sand.

No one felt fit to stir, and the beasts of burden seemed to be in worse plight than their masters.

But the doctor insisted upon a start being made at once, following upon the trail, and all expected to come before long upon the pair lying dead from thirst and exhaustion at the end of the track.

"We never expected to see you alive again, Chris," said the doctor; "and when we came upon you at last, just as we all felt that we could go no farther, we stopped short, no one daring to approach, for we found you lying just as we had pictured you.

"The expedition was to all of us quite at an end, and we approached you at last to lie down by your sides and die, when Griggs saw something that neither I nor Ned's father had noted."

"What was that, father?" asked Chris.

"That the mule's head was pointing in our direction, and that the trail on ahead was blurred, showing that you had been somewhere and were on the way back. The next minute he was shouting frantically for us to come on, and we did, having literally crawled up, to find you both alive and the two casks full of that which saved our lives."

That night camp was made in the midst of plenty, and the sun rose in the morning over the thick desert-heated air to shine upon the dazzling waters of the lake and the rich forest-land spreading upward towards a range of mountains of a vivid blue.

It seemed to be the land of plenty that they had reached, where abundance of game awaited the rifle, fish in shoals were in the lake, and, most attractive of all, away on the horizon, amidst the range of mountains running to right and left, were peaks among any of which the golden city of which they were in search might be waiting to be compared with the unfortunate old prospector's map.



CHAPTER THIRTY ONE.

OFF AGAIN.

A short halt of a day or two only was made by the lake at first, and then an excursion which had been made successfully in search of game having resulted in the discovery of a more suitable spot higher up towards the mountains, a week was spent there in a beautiful little valley, where an abundant stream of crystal purity emptied itself into the wide-spreading lake. Pasturage was there for the horses and mules, and almost without effort food was to be had at the expense of a few cartridges, while very little skill was needed for Griggs and the boys to draw salmon-like and trout-like fish to the banks.

In a day or two the perils and sufferings of the journey across the salt plains were forgotten, and careful searching for signs of Indians having proved that they were the sole occupants of the district, the whole party gave themselves up to the pleasures of the peaceful life they were enjoying. But not for long.

Griggs had entered into the spirit of the chase, the fishing and the search for vegetable food. He was as eager too when the doctor led excursions into gully and up hill-sides of a part of the world that seemed to the adventurers as if it had never before been trodden by the foot of man, and ready to point out fresh flowers, or indications of metal or other minerals where the cliff was bared or splintered by some fall from above. But over the camp-fire at night, in some rocky nook, or beneath the spreading boughs of a gigantic spruce-fir, a hint or a word or two brought him back to the prime motive of their journey.

"I'm ready when you are, gentlemen," he cried. "I don't say this isn't grand, and that we oughtn't to be as happy as the day is long in a place like this, but we didn't come out here only to enjoy a hunting-party. There's that map, you know."

"Yes," said the doctor gravely, "there's the map. But you don't think this is a likely part of the country?"

"Not down here, sir; but from where we stood to-day after stalking those birds, I could see the mountains opening out in gulch and rift and hollow, beyond which there was peak and point and pass that looked as much like the sort of country as could be."

"I noted the grand scenery too," said the doctor.

"And I," added Wilton. "It's made me long to begin exploring again, for there was no sign of desert that I could see."

"It's a grand country," said Bourne, "and the wonder to me is that it has not been settled. Why do you laugh, boy?"

"Oh, it was only at something I thought, sir," said Chris.

"What was it?"

"That the salt plains were enough to keep anybody from coming as far as this."

"That's it, my lad," said Griggs. "Men may have come prospecting in this direction for gold, but I shouldn't be a bit surprised to find that this is only a patch of good land round and about these mountains, and that if we went far enough in any direction we should come to the salt plains again, shutting it in and keeping people back."

"It is possible," said the doctor.

"It's more than likely, sir. If it were not so, wouldn't people have settled here?"

"It is very far from civilisation, Griggs," said Bourne.

"Most new places are far from civilisation, sir," cried Griggs. "But look all round here, sir; if a good strong party of men came here with their wives and children they'd make their own civilisation, for it seems to me that we can find here already pretty well everything a man could want. See what it would be after a few years of farm-stock rearing and gardening."

"Then why not stop and settle here?" said the doctor, smiling.

"Because we've got gold on the brain, sir," replied Griggs grimly. "We set ourselves to see if that poor old fellow's story was a fact, and having started, I say let's carry out our work. If we don't find out that his map told the truth, I'm ready to come and open out this bit of country, if you like, for it's ten times the place that we came from. Even now if you say we'll go no further, I'll set to work with you; but because it's so beautiful ought we to forget how we're cutting ourselves off from the rest of the world?"

"No," said the doctor emphatically. "I propose we make a fresh start to-morrow farther up into the mountains, and see what there is yonder."

There was a murmur of agreement at this, in which the boys joined.

"Yes," said Chris, as he sauntered away soon after with his eyes roaming in every direction in search of danger or something new. "Griggs is right. It's as fine as fine here, and I don't like leaving the fishing; but I am beginning to want a change, aren't you?"

"No going down-hill again to be roasted and choked with thirst."

"Of course not," said Chris; "we've had enough of that. I want to do some of that shooting Griggs was talking about last night."

"What, the goats up in the mountains?"

"Yes, and those big horned sheep; but I feel sure he was laughing at us about their jumping about the precipices, and running along ledges full gallop when they're only a few inches wide."

"Oh, I don't know; he hadn't got that queer cock of the eye that he has when he's spinning a yarn."

"Well, no; but it was a good deal like throwing the hatchet. Didn't you see how serious your father looked?"

"Yes, but not so serious as your father did when Griggs declared that he'd seen flocks of those sheep running away from people stalking them till they got to the edges of the precipices where they could go no farther; and then jump down head first so as to come on the great thick twisted horns which cover their foreheads, and bounce up again, and go on running along a lower part."

"Yes, I saw. Why, a big, heavy sheep if he came down like that would break his horns."

"Break his horns!" cried Ned. "He'd break his neck."

"I should like to shoot one of those fellows," said Chris.

"Or be below when one of them jumped, came down on his head, and broke his neck," said Ned. "I say, mutton—neck of mutton—leg of mutton! Wouldn't a good roast joint be a treat?"

"Oh, what a fellow you are for thinking about eating!" cried Chris impatiently.

"And so are you for drinking," replied Ned. "You're always on the lookout for water."

"Well, we must drink a great deal in such a thirsty land."

"Yes, and we must eat a deal to keep up one's strength," said Ned. "I can't help getting hungry when we're walking about so much. I suppose it's because I'm growing fast."

"Yea, that's it," said Chris, smiling. "I get very hungry too. It's all right; I won't laugh at you any more. I say, what lots of those little gophers there are here. Look there; why, there must be about a hundred up on that patch of sandy ground. Watching us to see if we're coming, and ready to pop into their holes."

"I see them. There's one of those little round tots of owls sitting there too just outside the burrow. It's quite comic to see the gophers living so sociably with the little owls."

Chris gave a shout just then, and the colony of little burrowing animals resembling the marmots of the Alps disappeared into their holes with an accompaniment of angry warning whistles, just as a huge eagle came sailing along overhead, swooping so near that a good marksman could easily have brought it down.

"Seems a pity to go away from a place where there's so much to see," said Chris, after a time. "And what for? To find gold. Well, it's only yellow metal. We might stay here and find some."

"Or silver," said Ned.

"Yes, or lead, or antimony."

"Or coal," cried Ned.

"Ah, that would be useful for making our cooking fire," said Chris. "But there's plenty of wood everywhere, and I won't complain. I want to go on and see more. Every place we come to seems more wonderful than the last, and there's no knowing what we may find next."

"We shall see," said Ned, yawning, for the darkness was sweeping up the sides of the hills, leaving the hollows black, and they had had a long and tiring day. "I suppose we shall start, then, to-morrow."

"For a certainty. I wonder what our next camping-place may be like."

"That ruined city described by the old prospector, perhaps," said Ned, laughing. "But what are we going to do then—load the mules with gold, and go back again?"

"I hope not," cried Chris. "I don't want to go back. Why, we haven't shot a buffalo yet."

"So much the better for the buffalo," said Ned, yawning again.

"I say, don't do that," cried Chris querulously.

"I wasn't doing anything."

"Yes, you were; opening your mouth as wide as you could, just like old Skeeter when he's getting ready to bray."

"Whinny," said Ned correctively. "He isn't a donkey."

"I know that. He can't bray. He whinnies and squeals; but he tries to bray, and opens his mouth just like you do."

"Perhaps so," said Ned, changing the conversation at once. "I say, doesn't that peak look beautiful? It's just as if it is red-hot."

"You'd find it pretty cold if you were up there," said Chris, giving up making rude allusions to his companion's yawning.