“Well, Stubby, are you feeling better?” he heard Billy say when he tried to open his eyes to see where he was.
“How in the world did I get here? Can you tell me that? for I had given up the hope of ever getting off that hot volcano again.”
“Indeed, I can, for I carried you every step of the way in my mouth, and when I got here I thought every tooth in my head would drop out, and instead of the little light weight dog I started with, I thought I was carrying an elephant, you got so heavy.”
“Billy, old fellow, you are a brick. That’s what you are.”
The next day Stubby was all right, and noticing that this little stream flowed toward the west, they followed it for two reasons. One, because they thought it would eventually run into the ocean; and the other, because they were afraid to leave it for fear of not finding any more water, and it was impossible to travel in this dry, hot country without having lots of water.
This little stream proved a perfect godsend to them as it quenched their thirst, cooled their aching feet and bodies and saved them many a long climb as it always kept its course and flowed straight on.
Had they followed the mountain trail it would have led them up hill and down and over many stones and brambles. Now, when they came to a precipice that shut off their path by its steep side they took to the stream and either waded or swam around it. In this way they reached the seashore days before they had expected to and with happy eyes they looked over the peaceful, blue bosom of the Pacific Ocean.
“Stubby, I feel as if I had escaped from prison to get out of that lonesome country full of insects, snakes and centipedes. Oh! how refreshing this salt breeze smells.”
“Yes, but I smell something sweeter to doggie nostrils and that’s the smell of frying meat. There must be a fisherman’s cottage around that bend. Good-bye, I’m off for some of it, and I mean to have some, even if I have to steal it from the red hot stove.”
“Don’t be in such a hurry and I’ll go with you.”