They forded the river and stood headed northward on the other side. Now they were in the heart of the Indian country—now they must be wary and guard against the hostile and cunning savages.
“Well,” remarked Mr. Wheeler, looking north, “had we better stop here, or go on?”
The question was addressed to the guide, who was down on his knees searching for Indian “sign.” He arose.
“Stop hyar.”
“Why? what are your reasons?”
“Water hyar. No water fur forty mile.”
“Is that so? Well, then we had better stop. We can’t afford to lie out all night without water, can we Sam?”
“No, sir,” replied the young man. “We should be obliged to fast if we did. When the weather is sultry, especially on the southern prairies, food begets thirst. We should suffer without water. Any old plainsman will tell you when out of water to keep your stomach empty, unless a dry cracker can be called food. It is true, medical men say the reverse; but, sir, men that have suffered thirst know that food without water is dangerous. I have tried it.”
“K’rect!” muttered the old guide, in assent.
“Skience is one thing an’ experience is another,” declared Burt Scranton. “I’ve studied one an’ tried t’other. Unhitch, boys.”