“There, it’s of no use,” said Ingleborough; “we may as well let the poor brutes browse upon such green shoots as they can find! They’ll be all the fresher for the halt. As for us, we must feed upon hope and the remembrance of the good things we have had in the past.”
“Don’t let’s give up yet!” replied West. “It is cool travelling, and every mile brings us nearer to safety.”
“Very well; but we shall find it hard work to get the ponies along.”
So they rode on, with their mounts growing more and more sluggish for a while, and then West suddenly uttered an exclamation.
“What is it?” cried Ingleborough. “Your nag?”
“Yes; he has suddenly begun to step out briskly.”
“So has mine,” said Ingleborough. “It’s all right. Give yours his head—they sniff water. I half fancy I can smell it myself; the air comes so cool and moist.”
Just then one of the ponies snorted, and the pair broke into a canter which lasted for about a quarter of a mile, when they dropped into a walk, for the ground was encumbered with stones; but almost directly a pleasant refreshing odour of moist greenery saluted the riders’ nostrils, and then the ground was soft and yielding beneath the ponies’ hoofs, then rough and gravelly, and the next minute the riders were gazing down at the reflected stars, which became blurred as the ponies splashed into water and then lowered their muzzles to drink.
“A great pool?” said West.
“No; hark!”