“I have my gun, and I daresay I can take care of myself.”
“But you ought to take Bostock with you, doctor.”
“I think not: and besides, as we have to divide our force it ought to be done as equally as possible. There, I shall take six hours for my expedition—that is to say, if it is necessary—and I shall go straight away for three hours, and then turn back.”
“And suppose you lose yourself?”
“I have no fear of that,” said the doctor. “But don’t you go far in either direction. Consider that you have to guard the raft till I come back.”
Carey felt ready to make fresh objections, but the doctor gave him no time. He stepped to the provision basket, took out one of the bread cakes that Bostock made every other morning, thrust it into his pocket, and gave his patient a final word or two of advice.
“Don’t be tempted to over-heat yourself in the sun,” he said. “Get into the shade of the grove here if you begin to grow tired,” and, shouldering his gun, he stepped off through the sand, disappearing directly after among the trees, but only to step back and shout:
“I shall try and follow the stream as near as I can to its source in the lake that must be up yonder. Au revoir.”
He disappeared once more, and Carey and Bostock stood looking at one another on the sandy shore.