“It’s all here!—all here!” he said aloud, huskily.
Back at the bowl once more, he filled a canteen and hung it to the pack-saddle, took another long drink himself, and let the donkey have all that remained. Then, reaching into an inside pocket of his shirt, he brought out something that was wrapped in a piece of newspaper. He unwound the paper, disclosing a small bottle, which he uncorked. And having measured the size of the bowl with his eye, he dropped three round, white tablets into it. This done, he dampened a handkerchief from the canteen and laid it, folded, upon his hair. For the long miles in the sun had told on him, and there was a feeling of heat and pressure at the top of his skull.
A few minutes later, he set off once more, due west, completely avoiding the Searles route to the southward.
When Polly awoke, the sun was already down, and twilight was settling. Fearing that she had delayed the departure, she sprang to her feet. But Blandy was still snoring. And close at hand was a saddleless burro, head lowered and fast asleep.
She began to call: “Harvey! Oh, Harv!”
The snoring ceased. The yellow umbrella toppled. Blandy’s tall figure rose. “Gosh! but ain’t I snoozed!” he exclaimed.
She called again: “Harvey! Where are you? Jeff! One of the burros is gone!”
“Oh, I guess he’s there, all right,” answered Blandy. “You know, a donk’s the same colour as the ground.”
“But he isn’t there,” persisted Polly. “Or Harvey, either.” And as Blandy hastened by, she joined him.