Then the conversation dropped, was resumed again twice, but in vain at last, for the heat and exertion were telling upon the poor lads now to a terrible extent. Their eyes grew wild and bloodshot, the faintness came on with increased force and refused to be exorcised, with each brain swimming at first a little, then more and more, till a heavy stupefying state of torpor supervened, and it was no longer the riders that directed their four-footed friends, but the latter leading them on and on hour after hour.
Though the boys could not realise the fact, the sun had crossed the meridian and was slowly beginning to descend, when there was a sudden arousing from the torpor-like state, brought about by the mule coming to a standstill with its legs spread-out widely, hanging its head, while its drooping ears and starting eyes told plainly enough that it was suffering acutely from heat and exhaustion, its eyes seeming to say mutely—
“The burden is too heavy, masters; if I stir another foot I must drop.”
“Can we do something—open one of the barrels and soak a handkerchief to hold it to the poor thing’s mouth?” said Chris loudly—he meant it to be, but it was only a hoarse, harsh sound which came from his lips, while when he descended from his saddle to step towards the barrel nearest to him, it suddenly seemed to fade away into the haze through which they had been passing, and in his effort to catch it poor Chris fell headlong to the ground and lay staring blankly upwards at Ned.
Chapter Thirty.
Waking Up.
“Oh, Chris!” groaned Ned, as he dismounted feebly, to fall on one knee by his companion’s side.
Chris’s eyes followed every movement, and he seemed to hear what was said, for he smiled faintly.