Duke and Jenny were turned, after considerable shouting and shoving; Harry set off on a straight line for the keg, and Terry followed more slowly with the team and cart. It did seem rather tough luck that they had lost the horsemen's trail to the next stake; now they'd simply have to guess at direction, unless they happened to be near the stage line and a stage came.
Golly, but he was thirsty! His mouth was glued. He hoped that they all—that is, Harry and he and Shep—would get a good drink from that keg. As for Duke and Jenny, they did not deserve a drink, although doubtless they needed one. And what about something to eat?
Harry was waiting at the keg, a queer look on his perspiring, grimy face. He had set the keg on end.
"Thirsty?" he queried.
"Thirsty's no name for it," panted Terry.
"So am I. But we'll have to go easy. The bung flew out of the keg, and half the water's followed. I found the bung, but I can't find the water."
Harry evidently tried to speak lightly, but Terry read concern in his tone and face both.
"Can you stand a short drink?" encouraged Harry. "There'll be plenty on ahead somewhere."
"Sure," declared Terry, manfully, feeling thirstier than ever. "We've got a little, haven't we? And if we strike that trail maybe it'll lead us to a creek."
So they hoisted in the keg, tightly stoppered again (but it was suspiciously light), and Harry trudged ahead once more, to find the gunny sacks.