"Why can't we all go up there and get a breath of fresh air? There must be some breeze on the top of the mountain," suggested Ned.
"No, I couldn't think of it," replied the guide firmly.
"Why not, please?" asked Walter.
"Because you might not come back," replied the guide, with a grim compression of the lips.
Later, upon being pressed by Tad for his reasons, he confided to the lad that there were snakes on the butte. He said he did not care to tell that to the boys, adding that "what they don't know won't hurt them."
Camp was made at dusk, some five miles further on, much to the relief of man and beast, for it had been the most trying day they had experienced.
The boys threw off their sombreros, shaking the dust from their heads. They then removed their clothes, giving them a thorough beating. After a brisk rub down with dry bath towels, the lads announced themselves as ready for supper.
"Our dry spread," Ned Rector called it, for not a drop of anything did they have to drink. They had drained their canteens of what little remained in them.
"It isn't good for one to drink with meals anyway," comforted Stacy. "That's what my uncle's doctor says," he explained, munching his bacon, forcing it down his parched throat.
Chunky was a philosopher, but he was unaware of the fact.