“There, there!” panted Ned. “Oh, don’t fall, Chris! One of us is enough. You mustn’t fall and lie there, because I want you to do something for me.”
“Yes,” said Chris softly, and with a wild-eyed stare at his companion.
“I want you to tell father that I held out to the last, and tried hard to do my duty as he told me to always.”
“Yes—yes,” sighed Chris hoarsely. “I’ll—I’ll tell him, if I get back to camp. But oh, Ned, it is so hard now, when we’ve got the water. All the strength has gone from me. I say, tell me, if we both fall out of our saddles and lie there, do you think that the ponies will go on to the camp?”
“No; I’m sure they won’t. They’ll stop beside us, looking down in our faces with their big, patient eyes. They won’t stir for ever so long.”
“Oh!” groaned Chris faintly. “And we shall have got the water for nothing.”
“No,” said Ned. “The ponies will stop, but the mule won’t; he’ll keep right on along the back trail, and they’ll get the water after all.”
“Ah!” sighed Chris, with a bright light coming into his eyes. “Then it won’t have been for nothing.”
“What are you doing?” said Ned, more strongly, as he saw his comrade begin to unfasten the knotted silk kerchief about his neck.
“Going to tie this to the chain. Father will know it’s mine, and that it means good-bye, and—”