A short time before the boy had felt in the highest glee. Success had attended their effort, and there seemed to be nothing else to do but hurry back to the fainting sufferers with the life-giving fluid and receive their thanks and praise, while now, in addition to the bitter despair and misery, there was a fresh sensation which he connected then with a feeling of sinking that made him gaze piteously at his companion, but only to be struck with his sunken eyes and agonised aspect.
“Don’t look like that, Ned,” he said. “Why, you’re worse than I am.”
“I can’t help it. I feel quite ill. We shall never get back to them in time. Father looked as if he wouldn’t be able to get up again.”
“So did my father. I never saw him look so dreadful before. He must be in an awful state, or else he’d have been able to take something from the medicine-chest to help him hold out longer. But there, it’s of no use to give way like this. We must get back to camp with this water. Do you hear? We must!”
“Yes,” said Ned mournfully. “We must.—Chris.”
“Yes?”
“If I fall off my nag and can’t get up again—”
“Oh, don’t talk like that. It’s idiotic.”
“I can’t help it. If I fall over and lie still on the sand, I want you to promise me something.”
“Then I shan’t,” cried Chris shortly. “Get out! You’re going to pretend that you’ll lie down and die, and you’re going to make your will.”