There was a spark of hope in this remark, and they moved forward once more. But alas! when the spring was gained it was found to be practically dry. There were only a few drops coming from it at a time, and this precious water was dealt out to the women and children.
The boys and Maybe Dixon turned back and formed in a group near the head of Darling, who was looking as wistfully at the spring as anybody.
"Darling, it's too bad, ain't it?" said Bob. "Tough luck, old man!" And he rubbed his hand along the mule's nose.
"How far to the next spring?" questioned Mark.
This question was on everybody's lips. It was learned that there was, or had been, a small creek six miles further along the trail, but whether this was still running or had dried up during the summer nobody could tell.
"Well, we may as well go on," said Mark. "Every minute wasted here only makes matters worse. The quicker we get to some kind of water the better it will be for us."
"That's true," said Bob. "Forward it is," and he led the mule around half a dozen turnouts ahead of them.
"You'll die on the trail!" cried several. "Better turn back to where you came from."
"No, we are bound for California," cried Si.
"California or bust!" added Mark, and Bob said the same.