“Quite,” said Chris despairingly. “I will hope and feel sure that all will turn out as it should. It must. It shall. I say, how long have we been coming since we started?”
“I don’t know, and I can’t think,” was the reply.
“I say, I can’t see the lake now,” cried Chris. “It’s all hidden by the thick hot haze that has closed in.”
“Can you see the beautiful country and the mountains there still?”
“No; nothing but the thick, hot, transparent mist and the sand and sage-brush everywhere, behind, just as it is now in front. I say, how well old muley keeps to the trail! I wish it wasn’t so hazy; we should see the tent perhaps then.”
Ned turned off the conversation at a tangent, for the sight of a clump of stones gave him a subject full of interest.
“Stones and rocky bits, with little heathery-like bushes. I say, Chris, keep a good lookout. Isn’t this the sort of country for rattlesnakes?”
“Ugh!” ejaculated Chris. “I say, how horrible if the mule were to step on one of the nasty reptiles now.”
“We should have to fit the barrels on one of the ponies then, and take turns at walking. But let’s try and guide them more away from the heath.”
They tried, but the mule resisted their efforts at once and showed a stern determination to keep to the trail, while the ponies backed it up on either side.