“Can’t drink it?” cried Saxe; “why, I’m so thirsty, I could drink anything.”
“Not that. Why, it’s full of stone and snow. Bad as bad can be. Come along, and let’s see what we can find. It will be better than doing nothing; and I’m thirsty too. Let’s try that little rift in the mountain. It looks the sort of place for a rivulet to come sparkling down amongst moss and ferns. Let’s try.”
He led the way toward the rift, which looked like the beginning of a similar chasm to that through which they had so lately come, Saxe following closely behind, while the mule went on crop, crop at the thin fine grass, with his coat rapidly drying in the hot afternoon sun.
Chapter Eleven.
A Glissade is not all Bliss.
It took a long time to find that bubbling spring; but they discovered it at last, coming down from hundreds of feet above their heads, over vivid green moss and under fern fronds, to form into tiny pools in the crevices of the rocks; and from one of these they drank with avidity long cooling draughts of the sparkling water dipped out in the flask cup, and then they turned to go.
As they walked back, it was to find that Melchior had just returned with the pannier, and had been spreading part of his clothes in the sun to dry.
“We have been after water,” said Dale.