"I guess what's up," thought Morton, dismounting. He stooped and lifted some water to his lips with his scooped hand.
"Bah!" It was salter than brine.
Remounting, he rode up the bank and called to the others, who were visible slightly ahead. They waited when they saw him riding towards them.
"I think we had better ride straight for the spring," he said; "there's water down there, but it's salter than the Pacific Ocean."
"We have good travelling along here," replied Brown. "I think we ought to keep on here as far as we can and then strike off for the spring. It doesn't much matter about water now, for the spring can't be many miles off."
"You follow the creek, then, for a bit; you seem luckier than I am. It does not much matter about the water, as you say, but I should like to know whether there was any fresh water in it as well as salt."
Brown went off to the creek and they once more started, until Morton calculated that a short three miles through the scrub which was running parallel to them would bring them to the spring. He shouted to Brown and fired his revolver, and when Brown joined them they turned off and reached the spring at dusk.
"Back for the first time," said Morton, as they unpacked at their old camp. "I wonder how many times we shall have to return here."
"Lucky we have such a good camp to stand by us," answered Brown. "We can always get from here to the lake."
The next thing to consider was their movements for the morrow. Morton suggested that perhaps the clay formation altered the conditions of the creek, and below, the water, if not fresh, was at least only brackish.