The Peril Finders Part 64

"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!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed 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 hoa.r.s.e, 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 pa.s.sing, 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 att.i.tude, 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 hoa.r.s.e 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 pa.s.sed 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 gra.s.s, 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 bra.s.s 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?"