“Step out indeed!” grumbled the boy. “I stepped out first thing—right out of my boots. I say, comrade, oughtn’t the soles of our feet to begin to get hard by now?”
“Don’t talk about it, Punch.”
“Oh, you can feel it too? If it’s like this now, what’s it going to be by to-night? I did not know that it was going to be so bad. If I had, blest if that goat-stalker should have had my boots! I’d have kept them, and shared them—one apiece—and every now and then we could have changed foots. It would have been better then, wouldn’t it?”
“I don’t know, Punch. Don’t think about it. Let’s go on till we get to the first spring, and then rest and bathe our feet.”
“All right.”
The boys kept on their painful walk for another hour; and then, the spring being found, they rested and bathed their tender soles, partook of a portion of their provisions, and went on again.
That night the river seemed to be as far off as ever, and as they settled upon a sheltered spot for their night’s rest, and ate their spare supper, Punch hazarded the remark that they shouldn’t overtake the army the next day. Pen was more hopeful, and that night they fell asleep directly, with Punch quite forgetful of the wolves.
The morning found the travellers better prepared for the continuance of their journey, and they toiled on painfully, slept for another night in a patch of forest, and started off at the first blink of dawn so as to reach the river, which was now flowing swiftly westward on their left.
Their provisions were finished, all but a scrap of the bread which was so hard that they were glad to soak it in the river; but in spite of their pain they walked on more bravely, their sufferings being alleviated by the water, which was now always on their left, and down to whose bubbling surface they descended from time to time.
“I say,” said Punch, all at once, “I hope those chaps were right, because we have come a long way, and I can’t see no sign of the army. You must have patience, Punch.”