“Must, sir.”
“That’s right,” said the doctor, with a sigh of relief. “We must not think, but we must do it. We’ve got over the worst of it now, I feel sure.”
The doctor was wrong, for there was an unexpected trouble ahead.
Towards the promised time for the halt there was what all took for a more hopeful sign: the plain was growing more stony and undulatory, while sage-brush peeped out in clumps here and there, to be gladly welcomed by the animals, which lost not an opportunity of cropping the bitter shoots.
The sun was getting hotter and hotter, and the doctor drew out his watch, to close it again with a snap which sounded curiously loud in the painful silence.
“Only another hour,” he said, in a husky voice, “and then rest and breakfast.”
He had hardly uttered the words when one of the mules, which had broken a little way from the line with outstretched muzzle, to nibble a few grey twigs, gave a leap which nearly dislodged its pack, and uttering a dismal squeal which was answered by two or three of its fellows, who turned their weary, straining eyes towards their companion, which now stood snorting and stamping angrily.
“What’s the matter with the poor brute?” cried the doctor, who hurried towards the animal, closely followed by Griggs.
“Take care, sir—that,” said the latter, in a whisper.
“That? What do you mean?”