“Not after dark, sir,” said Griggs coolly. “We must have ’em though, and I’m going to do it somehow, cost what it may.”
The next minute they had mounted and were riding slowly back to where the others were about to come in search of them, in alarm at their prolonged absence.
Chapter Fifteen.
Dry Fishing.
There was a short, sharp council of ways and means held in the soft evening light which bathed the sterile rocky plain and the distant mountainous land with a weird beauty, that made those who gazed around feel a sensation of wonder, that nature could spread such a mask over a scene whose aspect to the adventurers was full of the horrors of thirst, and death by the stroke of the venomous reptiles.
Close at hand, and showing no disposition to stray, were the horses and the mules, with their coats bristling with dried sweat, and the dust through which they had travelled.
Their packs remained untouched, for every one felt that it was impossible to stay where they were, while before starting afresh water was an absolute necessity—a draught each to allay the feverish thirst, and the contents of one keg carefully divided so that about a pint each could be given to the wearied beasts.
“But there must be water somewhere near on that higher ground,” said Wilton excitedly, and the doctor noted that his eyes looked bloodshot and wild. “Here, I tell you what; I’ll take our bearings and ride off to see what I can find, and then come back.”