The night was hot, very hot and close, and it seemed that it would never end. On and on flew the big airship, covering mile after mile.
“Whew! I’m a regular furnace!” exclaimed Bob, getting up from his bunk. No one was sleeping. The lad went to the water tank and drew a full glass.
“Go halves with me and Ned on that, Chunky,” said Jerry in a low voice.
“Halves? Why, I’ll bring you a full glass in a minute,” and the stout lad looked toward Jerry in the pilot house.
“No—don’t!” came the quick answer. “A quarter of a glass each is all we can have—for a while.”
“A quarter of a glass?” faltered Bob.
“Yes—until we cross the desert. The motor needs it more than we do,” for well Jerry knew that, once the cylinders got overheated from lack of water circulating around them, they would be stalled again.
Bob choked back his thirst, but it was hard work. How they lived through that night they hardly knew afterward, but they did. The ration of water was further reduced by morning, and as the hot sun came up it showed the desert still beneath them. There was no prospect of water there.
By noon there was not another drop that could be spared for drinking, and they had to sit with parched tongues, and watch the sands slip along below them. They were not flying high, as they wanted to catch a glimpse of some lake, river or brook. But none showed—there was only the dry and sandy desert.