“I do, sir,” began Saxe.
“Stop!” cried Dale.
“What’s the matter, sir?” cried Saxe, wondering.
“This, my boy! Never mind the sir while we are out here as companions. We are friends and helpmates—brothers if you like. Now what were you going to say?”
“Oh! only that I don’t feel uneasy about him. A man who could tumble into the water at the other end and be shot through like a pellet from a popgun, can’t come to any harm. I say, how long do you think he’ll be?”
“Nearly an hour,” replied Dale.
“Nearly an hour,” cried Saxe dolefully—“an hour to wait before we can get anything to eat. Ah! you lucky beggar,” he continued, apostrophising the mule, “you’ve got plenty, and are enjoying it, while I’ve got none. But I mean to—”
“Here! what are you going to do?” cried Dale.
“Climb down to the water’s edge and have a good drink. I’m as thirsty as a fish.”
“Then we must look out for a spring. You can’t drink that water.”