Chapter Twenty Three.

Chapter Twenty Three.A Bivouac.“Oh, I say, Griggs, isn’t this a lovely place!” said Ned that evening just before sundown, as they sat beside a glowing wood fire, waiting for the sufficient cooking of the bread-cakes that had been made. Griggs was combining the duties of watch and cook; the animals were grazing contentedly; the rest of the party were sleeping just where they had wearily thrown themselves down after their long journey—all save Ned. He had woke up a few minutes before, to sit staring about him, wondering where he was, and with a vague notion in his head that the setting sun, whose horizontal rays were searching the gully to its deepest depth and staining the sky with the most glorious tints wherever they could rest upon a fleecy cloud, was rising, and that the odour that saluted his nostrils was given off by the breakfast cakes.Griggs was busy raking the glowing ashes over one of those cakes, and as he did not seem to hear, Ned glanced at where Chris lay with his head upon a doubled-up blanket, and repeated his question, which this time brought forth a reply.“Yes; it’s beautiful enough, my lad, but not the place we want.”“You haven’t had a good look round yet,” said Ned.“Quite good enough to satisfy me that the map was not made here.”Ned was silent for a few minutes, and then he said suddenly—“Yes, it’s going down, and it will soon be night. I was puzzled at first. I thought it was morning. It all comes through lying down at such an unnatural time.”“Ah, you mustn’t expect to go on in the regular way when you’re travelling, my lad,” said Griggs, “but get your bit of sleep when the chance comes.”“I suppose so,” said Ned; “but it was ever so long before I could go off, though I was as tired as a dog. Chris was just as bad, but he’s sleeping soundly enough now.”“No, I’m not,” said Chris quietly. “I’m wide awake, listening to what you say, and smelling the cakes. Are they nearly done, Griggs?”“Want another quarter of an hour, and then I shall make the tea.”“Then I shall go and bathe my face,” said Chris. “That’ll freshen me up. Will you come?”This was to Ned, who rose at once, and they walked off together towards where a little stream came gurgling and splashing down from the heights above.“They sleep well enough,” said Chris, with a side wag of the head.“Yes; but I couldn’t. I say, shall we have to watch to-night?”“No, I think not. I’m sure we shall have our turn to sleep till morning.”“That’s right. I know I shall go off like a top. But I say, look at the sky and those fir-trees up there.”“Lovely,” said Chris. “Some parts are so bright, all red and orange, and others look quite purple and black. It keeps changing so fast too, that the black shadows seem to move.”“Yes; that’s what I thought more than once as I lay there before you woke. It was just as if something was creeping about under the boughs.”“Not an Indian spy on all fours, was it?” said Chris quickly.“Nonsense! He wouldn’t have shown himself like that.”“Wasn’t a wild beast?”“Of course not. If it had been it would have scared the mules and ponies. No, it was only a shadow creeping along, and I suppose, after all, I wasn’t quite awake. Now then for that water. It’s sure to be fresh and cold, and will wash all the sleepy feeling away.”Ned was quite right. The water had come tumbling down from somewhere high up the peak, and felt quite icy as they lay down upon their faces amongst the stones and scooped it up out of a little moss-grown rock-pool for a few minutes, before rising up to dry their faces, feeling bright and elastic once more and wonderfully ready for the evening meal, the preparations for which sent forth another scent far more attractive than that which came from the ferns which grew in every crevice of the rocks, and the pines whose aromatic resin shed a fainter perfume now that the heat of the sun had died away.So beautiful was the soft gloom in the valley, so delicious the warm glow above, about the summit of the peak, that every one looked content and dreamy, as they sat almost in silence about the camp-fire and partook of their welcome repast.“My turn to-night, Lee,” said Wilton suddenly. “I don’t think we shall be disturbed—do you?”“No; I feel sure that we got away unseen, and in an hour it will be so still that you can hear the slightest sound.”“And so dark that an enemy could not find us.”“Till the moon rises,” said Bourne, “and then I come on. I say, doctor, you’re going to have as idle a time as the boys.”“And I’m sure father wants it,” said Chris sharply; “he nearly works himself to death.”“And never felt better in my life,” said the doctor, with a pleasant laugh. “This mountain air is glorious after the work in those dreary salt plains. But thank you all the same, Chris, my boy; you’ll take care that I am not quite worked to death, eh?”“You won’t let me,” said the boy quickly.“No,” replied the doctor. Then changing the subject, he turned to Griggs. “Just a word with you, neighbour,” he said. “You feel pretty confident about to-night, don’t you?”“Yes; we’ll have a good rest, and to-morrow—”“Well, what about to-morrow?” said the doctor, for the American paused.“Strike right off to the south.”“Why?” said Wilton sharply.“Because, grand as all this part is, it won’t do. A man wouldn’t dry up with starvation and thirst in such a country as this, but get fat and lazy. We’re not anywhere near the map land yet.”“I’m afraid not,” said the doctor; “but the climate is perfect. One would like to settle here, for some things.”“One?” said Bourne. “I know two.”“Three,” said Wilton.“All of us,” cried Chris.“I didn’t speak,” said Griggs dryly.“No; but you said you liked the place if it wasn’t for the Indians,” cried Ned.“Ah, I wasn’t thinking about the gold then, my lad.”“The gold!” cried Bourne contemptuously. “What is the gold, after all, but so much yellow metal?”“That’s right enough, sir,” said Griggs, “but precious—”“Precious!” said Bourne, with more contempt in his tone. “A fancy word.”“I hadn’t finished what I meant to say, sir,” said Griggs.“Finish then,” cried Bourne. “I don’t believe you are a slave to the lust for gold.”“Slave, eh?” said Griggs merrily. “Britons never shall be slaves, as you sing—nor Murricans neither. No, sir. I was going to say precious useful, when you cut me short.”“I beg your pardon, Griggs.”“Granted, sir. I was speaking as a man who has toiled for years and years to get a decent living by his plantation, and I must say, after all my disappointments I should like to drop all at once upon that gold city where the stuff’s lying waiting to be carted away.”“Yes,” said the doctor; “after all our lost labour it would be pleasant.”“I don’t want to wear gold chains and rings, and to keep carriages,” continued Griggs, “but I should like to have enough of the yellow stuff to put in a bank, and one might do a good deal of good if one made a pile.”“Yes, I quite agree with you,” said the doctor. “We all do, and we’ll work till we find it.”“Of course,” cried Wilton; “but I don’t like that striking off south to-morrow; why should we do that?”“It means getting clear of the Indians,” said Griggs, “and into a more likely part.”“But we should have to go right across that desert yonder. I could see it stretching away to the horizon from one point we passed to-day.”“So did I, sir,” said Griggs.“Then why not keep hugging the mountains?”“Or letting them hug us, Ned,” whispered Chris.“Didn’t use the glass when you looked out over the salt plain, did you, Mr Wilton?” said Griggs.“No; there wasn’t any need. I could see nothing else but one vast alkali plain.”“That’s a pity, sir,” said the American.“That’s what I say, and I propose that we keep on in the mountains till we can see a place likely to be that we are looking for.”“Look here, gentlemen,” said Griggs, “I’m Amurrican, and I speak with a slow sort of drawl which comes nat’ral to me. You don’t give me time. I’ve got a lot more to say about that lookout and the glass, only—snip-snap, you cut my speech right in two.”“I’m very sorry, Griggs,” cried Wilton. “Did you use the glass up there?”“Up there, and several other places too. That’s why I asked the doctor here to let me carry it.”“Well, and what did you see?” cried Wilton.“Nothing, till we got to that highest part.”“And then?”“Why then, right away south where the salt plains seemed to come to an end—”“Ah!” cried the doctor.“I could see just a line of faint clouds or shadows.”“Yes, clouds,” said Wilton—“shadows.”“Nay, it warn’t,” said Griggs. “Clouds and shadows miles away—a hundred, perhaps—seen through this clear air look like clouds and shadows.”“Of course,” said Wilton.“Blackish or greyish. These didn’t.”“How did they look then?” said Bourne.“Like mountains, sir; just that beautiful, wonderful, soft, pale pinkish blue. We were very high up, it was as clear as clear, and I don’t say how far it was off; most likely a hundred miles away, perhaps two; but there they were, a long line of ’em, some high and some low. Mountains, and no mistake, and that’s where we ought to go.”“Right across that scorching desert?” said Wilton.“Yes, sir. It won’t be nice, but we’ll take plenty of water.”“And risk the rattlesnakes?”“Yes, sir, and leave the Indians to themselves here,” said Griggs. “They may have this part and welcome. We don’t want it. What do you say, doctor?”“That we’ll have a good rest to-night, and climb to-morrow morning as high above us as we can to get another glimpse of your mountains, Griggs, and then map down our course by the compass and start, after making the best preparations we can. Have you anything more to say against the plan, Wilton?”“Not a bit,” cried the latter. “I didn’t know that Griggs had got another range of mountains up his sleeve. There, I’m a lazy one, and I can’t help longing to loaf about in a beautiful place like this. I should like to stop and shoot and explore. The place is lovely.”“Wait till we’ve got the gold, sir,” said Griggs merrily, “and then I’m with you. Nothing I should like better than to stop about here if Mr Lo! the poor Indian, would leave us alone. But he wouldn’t, I know of old, and I’ve a great objection to standing still for him to make a target of me and stick me as full of arrows as a porcupine. Say, I wonder we haven’t seen any of those gentlemen, and those black and white fellows with the feathery tails.”“The skunks!” cried the doctor. “No, nor do we want to. Then now for a good rest. Sleep, boys, and ‘pay attintion to it,’ like Barney O’Reardon. This moss will feel like feather-beds to-night. My word, how dark it has grown while we have been talking! Good-night, every one. I’m half-asleep now.”Five minutes later he was quite, and the rest, saving the watch, were rapidly following his example, the only sounds heard being the distant hoot of an owl, the musical trickling of falling water, and the crop, crop of the grazing beasts.

“Oh, I say, Griggs, isn’t this a lovely place!” said Ned that evening just before sundown, as they sat beside a glowing wood fire, waiting for the sufficient cooking of the bread-cakes that had been made. Griggs was combining the duties of watch and cook; the animals were grazing contentedly; the rest of the party were sleeping just where they had wearily thrown themselves down after their long journey—all save Ned. He had woke up a few minutes before, to sit staring about him, wondering where he was, and with a vague notion in his head that the setting sun, whose horizontal rays were searching the gully to its deepest depth and staining the sky with the most glorious tints wherever they could rest upon a fleecy cloud, was rising, and that the odour that saluted his nostrils was given off by the breakfast cakes.

Griggs was busy raking the glowing ashes over one of those cakes, and as he did not seem to hear, Ned glanced at where Chris lay with his head upon a doubled-up blanket, and repeated his question, which this time brought forth a reply.

“Yes; it’s beautiful enough, my lad, but not the place we want.”

“You haven’t had a good look round yet,” said Ned.

“Quite good enough to satisfy me that the map was not made here.”

Ned was silent for a few minutes, and then he said suddenly—

“Yes, it’s going down, and it will soon be night. I was puzzled at first. I thought it was morning. It all comes through lying down at such an unnatural time.”

“Ah, you mustn’t expect to go on in the regular way when you’re travelling, my lad,” said Griggs, “but get your bit of sleep when the chance comes.”

“I suppose so,” said Ned; “but it was ever so long before I could go off, though I was as tired as a dog. Chris was just as bad, but he’s sleeping soundly enough now.”

“No, I’m not,” said Chris quietly. “I’m wide awake, listening to what you say, and smelling the cakes. Are they nearly done, Griggs?”

“Want another quarter of an hour, and then I shall make the tea.”

“Then I shall go and bathe my face,” said Chris. “That’ll freshen me up. Will you come?”

This was to Ned, who rose at once, and they walked off together towards where a little stream came gurgling and splashing down from the heights above.

“They sleep well enough,” said Chris, with a side wag of the head.

“Yes; but I couldn’t. I say, shall we have to watch to-night?”

“No, I think not. I’m sure we shall have our turn to sleep till morning.”

“That’s right. I know I shall go off like a top. But I say, look at the sky and those fir-trees up there.”

“Lovely,” said Chris. “Some parts are so bright, all red and orange, and others look quite purple and black. It keeps changing so fast too, that the black shadows seem to move.”

“Yes; that’s what I thought more than once as I lay there before you woke. It was just as if something was creeping about under the boughs.”

“Not an Indian spy on all fours, was it?” said Chris quickly.

“Nonsense! He wouldn’t have shown himself like that.”

“Wasn’t a wild beast?”

“Of course not. If it had been it would have scared the mules and ponies. No, it was only a shadow creeping along, and I suppose, after all, I wasn’t quite awake. Now then for that water. It’s sure to be fresh and cold, and will wash all the sleepy feeling away.”

Ned was quite right. The water had come tumbling down from somewhere high up the peak, and felt quite icy as they lay down upon their faces amongst the stones and scooped it up out of a little moss-grown rock-pool for a few minutes, before rising up to dry their faces, feeling bright and elastic once more and wonderfully ready for the evening meal, the preparations for which sent forth another scent far more attractive than that which came from the ferns which grew in every crevice of the rocks, and the pines whose aromatic resin shed a fainter perfume now that the heat of the sun had died away.

So beautiful was the soft gloom in the valley, so delicious the warm glow above, about the summit of the peak, that every one looked content and dreamy, as they sat almost in silence about the camp-fire and partook of their welcome repast.

“My turn to-night, Lee,” said Wilton suddenly. “I don’t think we shall be disturbed—do you?”

“No; I feel sure that we got away unseen, and in an hour it will be so still that you can hear the slightest sound.”

“And so dark that an enemy could not find us.”

“Till the moon rises,” said Bourne, “and then I come on. I say, doctor, you’re going to have as idle a time as the boys.”

“And I’m sure father wants it,” said Chris sharply; “he nearly works himself to death.”

“And never felt better in my life,” said the doctor, with a pleasant laugh. “This mountain air is glorious after the work in those dreary salt plains. But thank you all the same, Chris, my boy; you’ll take care that I am not quite worked to death, eh?”

“You won’t let me,” said the boy quickly.

“No,” replied the doctor. Then changing the subject, he turned to Griggs. “Just a word with you, neighbour,” he said. “You feel pretty confident about to-night, don’t you?”

“Yes; we’ll have a good rest, and to-morrow—”

“Well, what about to-morrow?” said the doctor, for the American paused.

“Strike right off to the south.”

“Why?” said Wilton sharply.

“Because, grand as all this part is, it won’t do. A man wouldn’t dry up with starvation and thirst in such a country as this, but get fat and lazy. We’re not anywhere near the map land yet.”

“I’m afraid not,” said the doctor; “but the climate is perfect. One would like to settle here, for some things.”

“One?” said Bourne. “I know two.”

“Three,” said Wilton.

“All of us,” cried Chris.

“I didn’t speak,” said Griggs dryly.

“No; but you said you liked the place if it wasn’t for the Indians,” cried Ned.

“Ah, I wasn’t thinking about the gold then, my lad.”

“The gold!” cried Bourne contemptuously. “What is the gold, after all, but so much yellow metal?”

“That’s right enough, sir,” said Griggs, “but precious—”

“Precious!” said Bourne, with more contempt in his tone. “A fancy word.”

“I hadn’t finished what I meant to say, sir,” said Griggs.

“Finish then,” cried Bourne. “I don’t believe you are a slave to the lust for gold.”

“Slave, eh?” said Griggs merrily. “Britons never shall be slaves, as you sing—nor Murricans neither. No, sir. I was going to say precious useful, when you cut me short.”

“I beg your pardon, Griggs.”

“Granted, sir. I was speaking as a man who has toiled for years and years to get a decent living by his plantation, and I must say, after all my disappointments I should like to drop all at once upon that gold city where the stuff’s lying waiting to be carted away.”

“Yes,” said the doctor; “after all our lost labour it would be pleasant.”

“I don’t want to wear gold chains and rings, and to keep carriages,” continued Griggs, “but I should like to have enough of the yellow stuff to put in a bank, and one might do a good deal of good if one made a pile.”

“Yes, I quite agree with you,” said the doctor. “We all do, and we’ll work till we find it.”

“Of course,” cried Wilton; “but I don’t like that striking off south to-morrow; why should we do that?”

“It means getting clear of the Indians,” said Griggs, “and into a more likely part.”

“But we should have to go right across that desert yonder. I could see it stretching away to the horizon from one point we passed to-day.”

“So did I, sir,” said Griggs.

“Then why not keep hugging the mountains?”

“Or letting them hug us, Ned,” whispered Chris.

“Didn’t use the glass when you looked out over the salt plain, did you, Mr Wilton?” said Griggs.

“No; there wasn’t any need. I could see nothing else but one vast alkali plain.”

“That’s a pity, sir,” said the American.

“That’s what I say, and I propose that we keep on in the mountains till we can see a place likely to be that we are looking for.”

“Look here, gentlemen,” said Griggs, “I’m Amurrican, and I speak with a slow sort of drawl which comes nat’ral to me. You don’t give me time. I’ve got a lot more to say about that lookout and the glass, only—snip-snap, you cut my speech right in two.”

“I’m very sorry, Griggs,” cried Wilton. “Did you use the glass up there?”

“Up there, and several other places too. That’s why I asked the doctor here to let me carry it.”

“Well, and what did you see?” cried Wilton.

“Nothing, till we got to that highest part.”

“And then?”

“Why then, right away south where the salt plains seemed to come to an end—”

“Ah!” cried the doctor.

“I could see just a line of faint clouds or shadows.”

“Yes, clouds,” said Wilton—“shadows.”

“Nay, it warn’t,” said Griggs. “Clouds and shadows miles away—a hundred, perhaps—seen through this clear air look like clouds and shadows.”

“Of course,” said Wilton.

“Blackish or greyish. These didn’t.”

“How did they look then?” said Bourne.

“Like mountains, sir; just that beautiful, wonderful, soft, pale pinkish blue. We were very high up, it was as clear as clear, and I don’t say how far it was off; most likely a hundred miles away, perhaps two; but there they were, a long line of ’em, some high and some low. Mountains, and no mistake, and that’s where we ought to go.”

“Right across that scorching desert?” said Wilton.

“Yes, sir. It won’t be nice, but we’ll take plenty of water.”

“And risk the rattlesnakes?”

“Yes, sir, and leave the Indians to themselves here,” said Griggs. “They may have this part and welcome. We don’t want it. What do you say, doctor?”

“That we’ll have a good rest to-night, and climb to-morrow morning as high above us as we can to get another glimpse of your mountains, Griggs, and then map down our course by the compass and start, after making the best preparations we can. Have you anything more to say against the plan, Wilton?”

“Not a bit,” cried the latter. “I didn’t know that Griggs had got another range of mountains up his sleeve. There, I’m a lazy one, and I can’t help longing to loaf about in a beautiful place like this. I should like to stop and shoot and explore. The place is lovely.”

“Wait till we’ve got the gold, sir,” said Griggs merrily, “and then I’m with you. Nothing I should like better than to stop about here if Mr Lo! the poor Indian, would leave us alone. But he wouldn’t, I know of old, and I’ve a great objection to standing still for him to make a target of me and stick me as full of arrows as a porcupine. Say, I wonder we haven’t seen any of those gentlemen, and those black and white fellows with the feathery tails.”

“The skunks!” cried the doctor. “No, nor do we want to. Then now for a good rest. Sleep, boys, and ‘pay attintion to it,’ like Barney O’Reardon. This moss will feel like feather-beds to-night. My word, how dark it has grown while we have been talking! Good-night, every one. I’m half-asleep now.”

Five minutes later he was quite, and the rest, saving the watch, were rapidly following his example, the only sounds heard being the distant hoot of an owl, the musical trickling of falling water, and the crop, crop of the grazing beasts.

Chapter Twenty Four.A Night Visitor.Chris Lee’s bed that night was a contrivance of his own. It was between two long pieces of rock, a narrow passage which, after taking the axe to lop them off, he filled full of aromatic pine branches. These lay close and were elastic and yielding. Over them he stretched a blanket, upon which he rolled another piece of rock, which filled up one end of the narrow passage, and there, snugly protected at head and sides, was the delightful couch for a wholesomely tired lad, only wanting another blanket to cover him if he felt chilly, or to be ready to throw off if he found it warm.Silence, darkness save for the glittering stars on high, sweet pure air, and an excellent appetite for sleep, there was all he could desire, and after laying his rifle and revolver ready and lifting his cartridge-pouch and hunting-knife a little over the rocks to prevent them from making dents in his sides, he said good-night to those near, let his head sink down, gazed for a few minutes at a brilliant star in the zenith which his father had told him was Aldebaran—one which he recollected well from its unscientific name—the Bull’s-eye, he closed his own and began dreaming at once, but not pleasantly. The fact was that he had eaten a very hearty supper and lain down to sleep very soon afterwards, two rather foolish things to do if a calm and restful sleep be sought.Chris did not know why it was—the doctor told him afterwards—but he began to dream soon afterwards of rattlesnakes. Not of such as he had seen on the rocky slope, the largest of which did not exceed six feet in length, but of dreamland rattlesnakes, monsters of twenty feet long, and with bony tails which kept up a constant whirr previous to their owners striking at that which they meant to destroy.It was evident in the dream that they did not mean to destroy him, for though they hovered over him with their heads playing up and down upon their elastic necks, while their eyes glittered and their forked tongues darted in and out of the opening in their jaws, they did not strike, only kept him in a state of horror and suspense, till they made way for one of the porcupines that had been named at supper-time. This came quietly up to the foot of his bed, and walked up from his boots to his knees, with its black and white quills lying down as smoothly as if they formed so much excessively coarse hair. But then as the creature continued its walk, to be soon upon the boy’s chest, it seemed to get into a violent passion, setting up its quills at all angles and rattling them together till it seemed about to dash at him. But instead of doing anything obnoxious it suddenly disappeared before the advance of a skunk, which came trotting up his body from his feet, just after the same fashion as the porcupine, but looking fiercely aggressive, in spite of the beauty of its clean, glossy, black and white fur. Its eyes gleamed and sparkled; it showed its glistening sharp white teeth, and waving its erect tail, which curved over its back like a squirrel’s, it twitched in the same way, and seemed every moment about to make a rush at the boy’s face to inflict one of its dangerously poisonous bites, while the twitching tail threatened the discharge of the horribly offensive fluid which will send a determined dog yelling plaintively, as, completely cowed, it beats a retreat.It seemed an hour of expectancy for what did not come off, and all the time the sleeper lay half-conscious in the painful experience, telling himself that it was all fancy, for it was only a dream.This was just as he was about to recover full consciousness, for the skunk gradually died away from where it had seemed to be standing upon his chest, and Chris lay wide awake with his heart beating, painfully wide awake now, and with every nerve on the strain, as he listened and tried to make out the meaning of a strange heavy breathing mingled with a sniffing, snuffling which came from somewhere at the back of his head.Chris’s first thought was of springing up out of the trough-like bed-place he had selected and escaping by the foot; but before he could put this into effect there was a rustling sound on the big piece of rock he had jammed in behind his head, and though he could see nothing he could feel that something had stepped up on to the stone and was bending over him; the snuffling breathing grew louder, and, to his horror, he felt a puff of hot breath full in his face.There was no springing up now. An icy feeling chilled him, and he lay perfectly motionless, unable to stir, and feeling as if he had suddenly sunk into another dream—a nightmare this, by which he was completely fettered.His rifle lay on one side, loaded; his revolver was on the other, and within reach of his hand; but he could not lift a finger, only stare upward with his eyes fixed upon the stars, which now seemed to be eclipsed by something dark passing between his face and them and remaining perfectly motionless for a few seconds. Then it passed onward and he could see the stars again, conscious the while that whatever the creature might be that had visited him it was now standing or sitting upon the long rock, to his left, breathing hard, with its head very near his own, and that, apparently dissatisfied with its position, or uneasy, it raised itself up and stepped over to the other side of the bed, forming what looked faintly like a black arch before the hind-legs followed the fore and it began to shuffle about uneasily upon the rock to the boy’s right. Then there was a scraping sound, and something fell with a thump on to the listener’s chest and slipped down between the rock and his ribs.Chris’s heart had ceased its heavy beating, but at this point it gave a tremendous bound which seemed to give him a momentary feeling of resolution and strength; but momentary only. He could not stir even now, only think, and listen to the creature upon the rock as it uttered a peculiar whining sound, followed by a deep grunt.Then all was still, as if the animal had been slightly alarmed and was now listening.“If I stir,” thought Chris—for he knew what his visitant must be—“if I stir it will seize me with its claws and bury its teeth in my throat. Oh, it is hard!”For he knew what had happened: the bear had in changing its position upon the long piece of rock disturbed the revolver lying there, and knocked it off on to the sleeper’s chest, from which it had glided down between his ribs and the rock to lie close to his hand, where he could not seize it for his defence without rousing the animal to an attack before he could cock the pistol and fire.The position was horrible, for Chris felt that the monster must be a grizzly, one of the fiercest and most powerful beasts that roam the forest, and though so much help was close at hand, it seemed to the boy that it might as well be a mile away, for he dared not—no, not dared, but simply could not—utter a sound.How long this agony lasted he could not tell, but all the time he felt a strange combination of sensations, for it was as if his body was turned to ice, his head was on fire, and hot and cold together he was melting away.He could see dimly the bulky dark figure of his visitant, but he judged that it could see him plainly, for it kept on moving about uneasily, and twice over changed its position from one rock to the other, bridging them over, and then sitting up as if listening, before coming down softly on all fours again, to stretch out its neck and begin sniffing at him from end to end.At last, when a horrible feeling of faintness was creeping up from head to brain, a thrill ran through the boy, for a great paw was stretched out, touched him on the breast, and he felt the claws catch in the right side of his jacket as he was lifted up a little with a strange scraping sound against the rock, and something rolled over on to his chest as he was lowered down again, and then rolled back against his right-hand.The shuffling sound began again, and as if to claw him out of the narrow trench-like place in which he lay, the bear reached out once more, thrusting its great paw down between him and the rock, and with the claws right under him began to lift him out.Chris felt himself rising slowly, and knew that the next thing would be that he would be seized by the animal’s teeth and slowly carried off to his lair.But a change had come over the lad in those moments, ever since the first movement had sent something on to his chest to roll back against his hand. For that something was the revolver, about whose butt Chris’s fingers closed, and as the bear’s shuffling had raised him up there was aclick, clickof the lock, a movement of the boy’s wrist which directed the muzzle of the little piece upward, and then in an agony of desperation his right finger pressed the trigger and there was a sharp echoing report, followed by a furious yell and crash which was followed by a call for help, and the voice of Wilton.“Who fired that shot?” he shouted.“I did,” gasped Chris, who had scrambled to his feet, trembling in every limb.“Who called for help?” shouted Griggs.“I! Help!” came again.“That you, Bourne?” said the doctor.“Yes,” came in a choking voice as of some one being suffocated.“Oh, it’s father!” shrieked Ned, and he rushed in the direction of the sound, just as there was a snarling, worrying sound and the breaking of wood as if a heavy body was rushing among the trees.“Ah!” came in Bourne’s voice, loudly. “No, my boy, not hurt, but I thought I was gone.”The speaker was the centre of a little group now, two of whom struck matches, and Wilton produced a lanthorn, which was lit and held up, to disclose the face of Bourne, covered with blood, and his jacket hanging down below his waist, literally ripped up.“Help him to lie down,” said the doctor anxiously. “Now, old fellow, tell me, where are you wounded?”“Only in my jacket, I hope,” was the reply, given cheerfully enough. “Who shot the brute?”“I did,” said Chris.“You?” cried Griggs. “Then it was not you, Mr Bourne?”“I? No! I was woke up by the shot, and coming to see, when I was knocked down by the brute. It fell on me, pinning me to the ground, kicking and struggling the while. I thought I should have been smothered. Is this its blood all over me?”“Yes, if you are not torn.”“I’m not hurt that I know of. One of its fangs caught me somewhere about the collar and tore my jacket right down to the waist.”“No, you can’t be wounded,” said the doctor, “or you wouldn’t talk like that. Here, Chris, you say you fired?”“Yes, father,” said the boy, and he hurriedly related his experience.“What an escape for you both!” cried the doctor. “The brute must have been desperately wounded by your pistol-shot, Chris, my boy. You hit him hard.”“Couldn’t very well miss him at that distance, sir,” said Griggs dryly. “The brute’s lying somewhere about. Look out, every one, for he’ll be pretty dangerous.”“He must have gone ever so far,” cried Ned, “for I heard the trees breaking for long enough. But are you quite sure you’re not hurt, father?”“Not a bit, my boy; I only want a wash and another jacket. Ugh! This blood is horrible. But I say, Wilton, you’re a pretty sort of a fellow to keep guard while we slept!”“Oh, I was on the lookout for Indians. You didn’t say anything about bears. What was this one—a grizzly, Griggs?”“Didn’t see it, neighbour, but I shouldn’t think it was. Black one or brown one, I should say. Cinnamon, p’r’aps.”“Why not a grizzly?”“Because he wouldn’t have taken a shot in him so quietly. He’d be rampaging about here ready to tear us all to pieces.”“Hadn’t we better try and follow up the brute with the lanthorn?”“I should say not,” was the reply. “If he’s only wounded he must be lying up savage-like, and as soon as he sees the light he’ll show fight. If he’s badly hurt he may have gone on till he drops, and be nearly dead by now.”“But we can’t lie down and go to sleep again after this.”“Well, no, sir,” said Griggs coolly; “it don’t sound tempting.”“Then you would try and track the brute?”“Yes, when the sun’s up, sir.”“But what shall we do now?”“Well,” said the American, as coolly as could be, “seems to me that this is just a nice suitable time to sit round the lanthorn and tell bear stories.”“What!” cried the doctor.“Tell bear stories, sir. Young Chris here might begin by telling his experience over again with all the flourishes, crosses, and dots that he left out. He didn’t half tell it, I think.”“Oh, that’s absurd,” said Wilton. “By the way, though, I didn’t hear a sound till Chris fired.”“Hadn’t dropped asleep, had you?” said Griggs banteringly.“No, certainly not,” said Wilton, angrily.“Here, every one look to his rifle,” said the doctor, “and we’ll sit together and watch and listen. The brute may come back.”This was done in silence for some time, when their patience getting exhausted, remarks were made about the ponies and mules, and wonder was expressed about their not having stampeded.“Say,” said Griggs suddenly, “I forgot all about them. Where are they?”“Feeding about somewhere, quietly,” said the doctor.“I don’t know so much about that,” cried Griggs. “P’r’aps one of you will come with me and the lanthorn, and we’ll see. I can’t hear any of them grass-chopping. Will you come with me, Chris, or have you been too much shook up?”“Oh, I’ll come,” said Chris quietly. “I don’t think I’ve been too much ‘shook up.’”In a few minutes the lanthorn was seen lighting up the rocks and trees in the direction of the best pasturage, where the cattle had been left; and those left in camp watched till it disappeared, waiting anxiously till the light was in sight again, and finally came up to where the glowing embers kept on brightening and dying out again as the soft breeze blew down the gully from time to time.“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.

Chris Lee’s bed that night was a contrivance of his own. It was between two long pieces of rock, a narrow passage which, after taking the axe to lop them off, he filled full of aromatic pine branches. These lay close and were elastic and yielding. Over them he stretched a blanket, upon which he rolled another piece of rock, which filled up one end of the narrow passage, and there, snugly protected at head and sides, was the delightful couch for a wholesomely tired lad, only wanting another blanket to cover him if he felt chilly, or to be ready to throw off if he found it warm.

Silence, darkness save for the glittering stars on high, sweet pure air, and an excellent appetite for sleep, there was all he could desire, and after laying his rifle and revolver ready and lifting his cartridge-pouch and hunting-knife a little over the rocks to prevent them from making dents in his sides, he said good-night to those near, let his head sink down, gazed for a few minutes at a brilliant star in the zenith which his father had told him was Aldebaran—one which he recollected well from its unscientific name—the Bull’s-eye, he closed his own and began dreaming at once, but not pleasantly. The fact was that he had eaten a very hearty supper and lain down to sleep very soon afterwards, two rather foolish things to do if a calm and restful sleep be sought.

Chris did not know why it was—the doctor told him afterwards—but he began to dream soon afterwards of rattlesnakes. Not of such as he had seen on the rocky slope, the largest of which did not exceed six feet in length, but of dreamland rattlesnakes, monsters of twenty feet long, and with bony tails which kept up a constant whirr previous to their owners striking at that which they meant to destroy.

It was evident in the dream that they did not mean to destroy him, for though they hovered over him with their heads playing up and down upon their elastic necks, while their eyes glittered and their forked tongues darted in and out of the opening in their jaws, they did not strike, only kept him in a state of horror and suspense, till they made way for one of the porcupines that had been named at supper-time. This came quietly up to the foot of his bed, and walked up from his boots to his knees, with its black and white quills lying down as smoothly as if they formed so much excessively coarse hair. But then as the creature continued its walk, to be soon upon the boy’s chest, it seemed to get into a violent passion, setting up its quills at all angles and rattling them together till it seemed about to dash at him. But instead of doing anything obnoxious it suddenly disappeared before the advance of a skunk, which came trotting up his body from his feet, just after the same fashion as the porcupine, but looking fiercely aggressive, in spite of the beauty of its clean, glossy, black and white fur. Its eyes gleamed and sparkled; it showed its glistening sharp white teeth, and waving its erect tail, which curved over its back like a squirrel’s, it twitched in the same way, and seemed every moment about to make a rush at the boy’s face to inflict one of its dangerously poisonous bites, while the twitching tail threatened the discharge of the horribly offensive fluid which will send a determined dog yelling plaintively, as, completely cowed, it beats a retreat.

It seemed an hour of expectancy for what did not come off, and all the time the sleeper lay half-conscious in the painful experience, telling himself that it was all fancy, for it was only a dream.

This was just as he was about to recover full consciousness, for the skunk gradually died away from where it had seemed to be standing upon his chest, and Chris lay wide awake with his heart beating, painfully wide awake now, and with every nerve on the strain, as he listened and tried to make out the meaning of a strange heavy breathing mingled with a sniffing, snuffling which came from somewhere at the back of his head.

Chris’s first thought was of springing up out of the trough-like bed-place he had selected and escaping by the foot; but before he could put this into effect there was a rustling sound on the big piece of rock he had jammed in behind his head, and though he could see nothing he could feel that something had stepped up on to the stone and was bending over him; the snuffling breathing grew louder, and, to his horror, he felt a puff of hot breath full in his face.

There was no springing up now. An icy feeling chilled him, and he lay perfectly motionless, unable to stir, and feeling as if he had suddenly sunk into another dream—a nightmare this, by which he was completely fettered.

His rifle lay on one side, loaded; his revolver was on the other, and within reach of his hand; but he could not lift a finger, only stare upward with his eyes fixed upon the stars, which now seemed to be eclipsed by something dark passing between his face and them and remaining perfectly motionless for a few seconds. Then it passed onward and he could see the stars again, conscious the while that whatever the creature might be that had visited him it was now standing or sitting upon the long rock, to his left, breathing hard, with its head very near his own, and that, apparently dissatisfied with its position, or uneasy, it raised itself up and stepped over to the other side of the bed, forming what looked faintly like a black arch before the hind-legs followed the fore and it began to shuffle about uneasily upon the rock to the boy’s right. Then there was a scraping sound, and something fell with a thump on to the listener’s chest and slipped down between the rock and his ribs.

Chris’s heart had ceased its heavy beating, but at this point it gave a tremendous bound which seemed to give him a momentary feeling of resolution and strength; but momentary only. He could not stir even now, only think, and listen to the creature upon the rock as it uttered a peculiar whining sound, followed by a deep grunt.

Then all was still, as if the animal had been slightly alarmed and was now listening.

“If I stir,” thought Chris—for he knew what his visitant must be—“if I stir it will seize me with its claws and bury its teeth in my throat. Oh, it is hard!”

For he knew what had happened: the bear had in changing its position upon the long piece of rock disturbed the revolver lying there, and knocked it off on to the sleeper’s chest, from which it had glided down between his ribs and the rock to lie close to his hand, where he could not seize it for his defence without rousing the animal to an attack before he could cock the pistol and fire.

The position was horrible, for Chris felt that the monster must be a grizzly, one of the fiercest and most powerful beasts that roam the forest, and though so much help was close at hand, it seemed to the boy that it might as well be a mile away, for he dared not—no, not dared, but simply could not—utter a sound.

How long this agony lasted he could not tell, but all the time he felt a strange combination of sensations, for it was as if his body was turned to ice, his head was on fire, and hot and cold together he was melting away.

He could see dimly the bulky dark figure of his visitant, but he judged that it could see him plainly, for it kept on moving about uneasily, and twice over changed its position from one rock to the other, bridging them over, and then sitting up as if listening, before coming down softly on all fours again, to stretch out its neck and begin sniffing at him from end to end.

At last, when a horrible feeling of faintness was creeping up from head to brain, a thrill ran through the boy, for a great paw was stretched out, touched him on the breast, and he felt the claws catch in the right side of his jacket as he was lifted up a little with a strange scraping sound against the rock, and something rolled over on to his chest as he was lowered down again, and then rolled back against his right-hand.

The shuffling sound began again, and as if to claw him out of the narrow trench-like place in which he lay, the bear reached out once more, thrusting its great paw down between him and the rock, and with the claws right under him began to lift him out.

Chris felt himself rising slowly, and knew that the next thing would be that he would be seized by the animal’s teeth and slowly carried off to his lair.

But a change had come over the lad in those moments, ever since the first movement had sent something on to his chest to roll back against his hand. For that something was the revolver, about whose butt Chris’s fingers closed, and as the bear’s shuffling had raised him up there was aclick, clickof the lock, a movement of the boy’s wrist which directed the muzzle of the little piece upward, and then in an agony of desperation his right finger pressed the trigger and there was a sharp echoing report, followed by a furious yell and crash which was followed by a call for help, and the voice of Wilton.

“Who fired that shot?” he shouted.

“I did,” gasped Chris, who had scrambled to his feet, trembling in every limb.

“Who called for help?” shouted Griggs.

“I! Help!” came again.

“That you, Bourne?” said the doctor.

“Yes,” came in a choking voice as of some one being suffocated.

“Oh, it’s father!” shrieked Ned, and he rushed in the direction of the sound, just as there was a snarling, worrying sound and the breaking of wood as if a heavy body was rushing among the trees.

“Ah!” came in Bourne’s voice, loudly. “No, my boy, not hurt, but I thought I was gone.”

The speaker was the centre of a little group now, two of whom struck matches, and Wilton produced a lanthorn, which was lit and held up, to disclose the face of Bourne, covered with blood, and his jacket hanging down below his waist, literally ripped up.

“Help him to lie down,” said the doctor anxiously. “Now, old fellow, tell me, where are you wounded?”

“Only in my jacket, I hope,” was the reply, given cheerfully enough. “Who shot the brute?”

“I did,” said Chris.

“You?” cried Griggs. “Then it was not you, Mr Bourne?”

“I? No! I was woke up by the shot, and coming to see, when I was knocked down by the brute. It fell on me, pinning me to the ground, kicking and struggling the while. I thought I should have been smothered. Is this its blood all over me?”

“Yes, if you are not torn.”

“I’m not hurt that I know of. One of its fangs caught me somewhere about the collar and tore my jacket right down to the waist.”

“No, you can’t be wounded,” said the doctor, “or you wouldn’t talk like that. Here, Chris, you say you fired?”

“Yes, father,” said the boy, and he hurriedly related his experience.

“What an escape for you both!” cried the doctor. “The brute must have been desperately wounded by your pistol-shot, Chris, my boy. You hit him hard.”

“Couldn’t very well miss him at that distance, sir,” said Griggs dryly. “The brute’s lying somewhere about. Look out, every one, for he’ll be pretty dangerous.”

“He must have gone ever so far,” cried Ned, “for I heard the trees breaking for long enough. But are you quite sure you’re not hurt, father?”

“Not a bit, my boy; I only want a wash and another jacket. Ugh! This blood is horrible. But I say, Wilton, you’re a pretty sort of a fellow to keep guard while we slept!”

“Oh, I was on the lookout for Indians. You didn’t say anything about bears. What was this one—a grizzly, Griggs?”

“Didn’t see it, neighbour, but I shouldn’t think it was. Black one or brown one, I should say. Cinnamon, p’r’aps.”

“Why not a grizzly?”

“Because he wouldn’t have taken a shot in him so quietly. He’d be rampaging about here ready to tear us all to pieces.”

“Hadn’t we better try and follow up the brute with the lanthorn?”

“I should say not,” was the reply. “If he’s only wounded he must be lying up savage-like, and as soon as he sees the light he’ll show fight. If he’s badly hurt he may have gone on till he drops, and be nearly dead by now.”

“But we can’t lie down and go to sleep again after this.”

“Well, no, sir,” said Griggs coolly; “it don’t sound tempting.”

“Then you would try and track the brute?”

“Yes, when the sun’s up, sir.”

“But what shall we do now?”

“Well,” said the American, as coolly as could be, “seems to me that this is just a nice suitable time to sit round the lanthorn and tell bear stories.”

“What!” cried the doctor.

“Tell bear stories, sir. Young Chris here might begin by telling his experience over again with all the flourishes, crosses, and dots that he left out. He didn’t half tell it, I think.”

“Oh, that’s absurd,” said Wilton. “By the way, though, I didn’t hear a sound till Chris fired.”

“Hadn’t dropped asleep, had you?” said Griggs banteringly.

“No, certainly not,” said Wilton, angrily.

“Here, every one look to his rifle,” said the doctor, “and we’ll sit together and watch and listen. The brute may come back.”

This was done in silence for some time, when their patience getting exhausted, remarks were made about the ponies and mules, and wonder was expressed about their not having stampeded.

“Say,” said Griggs suddenly, “I forgot all about them. Where are they?”

“Feeding about somewhere, quietly,” said the doctor.

“I don’t know so much about that,” cried Griggs. “P’r’aps one of you will come with me and the lanthorn, and we’ll see. I can’t hear any of them grass-chopping. Will you come with me, Chris, or have you been too much shook up?”

“Oh, I’ll come,” said Chris quietly. “I don’t think I’ve been too much ‘shook up.’”

In a few minutes the lanthorn was seen lighting up the rocks and trees in the direction of the best pasturage, where the cattle had been left; and those left in camp watched till it disappeared, waiting anxiously till the light was in sight again, and finally came up to where the glowing embers kept on brightening and dying out again as the soft breeze blew down the gully from time to time.

“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 wasPrime!

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 wasPrime!

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 goingclang—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.

“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 goingclang—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.

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