“I feel very ill and weak and giddy.”
“That’s how I feel,” said Chris, “and I’m afraid to try and get up into the saddle again. I know I shall go down bang.”
“No, no, don’t,” cried Ned excitedly. “Here, I’ll get on the other side, and take hold of your hand.”
“Shan’t I pull you down too?”
“No,” said Ned, speaking more strongly; “I won’t let you.”
“Catch hold, then,” cried Chris, as his comrade urged his nag alongside that of Chris, and then as they joined hands, the latter raised his left foot to the stirrup, sprang up, and dropped into the saddle with a sigh of relief.
“Well done us!” he panted. “Who’d ever have thought that being half starved would make two fellows feel like that?”
“It was awful, wasn’t it?”
“Not so horrible as thinking about them all dying for want of water. Oh, Ned, Ned, Ned, can’t we get one barrel on your or my pony and ride on fast?”
“No,” said Ned decisively. “We couldn’t hold it on, and we couldn’t go fast.”