“And I couldn’t, and didn’t have above half a meal the night before. Then we’ve been through so much ever since, and drunk all that water, and the sun’s been beating down on us.”
“What!” cried Ned, staring. “You mean it’s because we’re so hungry?”
“Why, of course it is. Now, tumble off your pony and lie down and die if you dare!”
“Chris!”
“That’s it, I tell you, and you know it is. Oh dear, I feel so light-headed, and so empty and faint, and nothing else the matter with me at all, only that I’m so miserable because we can’t get on faster.”
Ned sat staring and thinking hard, but he said no word in contradiction of his companion’s theory.
And there they stayed for quite ten minutes, Ned seated in his saddle, Chris standing resting against his, and with his pony pressing against him as if to keep him upright.
“Look at old Skeeter’s brother,” said Chris, at last. “He must be his brother, because he’s so like him.”
Ned looked in the same direction as his companion, to see that the mule had gone plodding on along the trail, flapping one ear to keep off the flies, and looking as if nothing would prevent it from going straight back to the camp.
“I say, you feel better now, don’t you?” said Chris suddenly.