“Ah!” grunted the boy.
“Poor fellow!” said Bourne, with a sigh. Then aloud—“Can’t you keep awake, Chris?”
“Spear fish—salmon—sparkling water,” sighed the boy, bowing very low this time.
“Come, try and wake up, my lad; we’re getting on higher ground, and it’s not so rocky here. As soon as day begins to break we shall come to a halt, and rest for a few hours—that is, if we can be sure that there are no rattlesnakes near.”
“Eh? Snakes?” said Chris, sitting very upright now, and gazing in the face of Ned’s father. “Yes, snakes. Made the water taste snaky. Horrid! Dries up your tongue. Tasted snaky.”
“Mine didn’t,” said Bourne. “I thought it was the sweetest drop I ever tasted in my life. Come, come, Ned; do you want me to hold you on your pony? Keep up a little longer, boy.”
“Ah!” grunted Ned, straightening himself and feeling about for the reins, which had escaped his hand, not that any guidance was wanted, the intelligent beast following the fight of the lanthorn, clearly seen moving ahead as Griggs’ mustang plodded on.
“Why, you’re asleep, Ned.”
“No, father,” answered the boy, telling a most brazen falsehood, for the moment before he was breathing so hard that the sounds were first cousins to heavy snores.
“That’s right, then. We’ve had a long weary ride to-day, but we’re going up-hill now and the air’s growing cooler. We must be leaving the sandy plains behind.”