That keg, when Harry had tilted it to give those few swallows to the passenger, had sounded alarmingly emptier than before. Water evaporated mighty fast on these plains.
Turning a moment, to shut the sun from his tortured eyes, now Terry saw something, quartering behind, on the right, which was the north. What? Antelope? No; too much dust. Antelope didn't raise such dust. Buffalo, then? More buffalo? Or Indians! No—and a wild hope surged into his heart and strengthened his voice, as he cried, to Harry:
"Harry! Hurrah! There's somebody else—another outfit!"
Harry, who had been plodding on, stopped to gaze; and instantly the exhausted Duke and Jenny stopped.
"Freighters," decided Harry. "Great Scott! Hurrah! Or maybe some of the stage-line people. We'll have to head 'em off and make 'em see us. Come on. Hurrah! Duke! Jenny! Gwan! Water! Water! Barrels of it—gallons of it!"
Duke and Jenny seemed to appreciate—they started gallantly.
"Gee—gee with you, Duke!" bade Harry, hobbling.
"Do you think they will have water?" panted Terry.
"Of course. But we'll have to catch 'em. Duke! Jenny! Hep!"
The dust cloud yonder had resolved itself into quite a large outfit, traveling briskly. There was a herd of animals—mules or horses; and two wagons following, drawn each by four span; and several men afoot, and others horseback.