Sunrise of the third day caught them plodding ahead, the poor mules groaning and wheezing, the wagon rolling sluggishly, and Davy, like the rest, with mouth open and tongue bone dry, in the wake. The cloud things in the horizon had remained stationary; some of them were whitish, some purplish; and mountains they certainly were!
About ten o’clock Billy cried out thickly.
“Water, fellows! Look at those mules’ ears! They smell it!”
“’Pears like a creek yonder, sure,” mumbled Captain Hi. “Don’t be disappointed, though, if it’s another mirage.” For they had been fooled several times by the heat waves picturing water.
“Those mules smell water, just the same, I bet you,” insisted Billy.
Far in the distance shimmered now a thin fringe of green. The mules actually increased their pace; they broke into a labored trot; and shambling heavily behind the outfit pressed on. Left-over groaned and dropped, to lie and moan dismally.
“I’m dying,” he wheezed. “I can’t move a step. Are you fellows going on and leave me?”
There was no holding the mules. As they forged along Billy exclaimed quickly:
“Wait here, Left-over. Go ahead, fellows. I’ll fetch him back a drink.”