“That’s you, isn’t it, Ned?” he said slowly. “Can’t see. Black spots floating about in front, and everything going round and round.”
Ned’s answer was another groan, for the trouble was on the increase.
The poor mule had done its best and kept on till it could do no more. Just then it made an effort to go on again, looking wistfully at Ned, in whose acts it evidently read an order for it to advance.
Drawing its legs together into a more natural attitude, it took a step or two, stumbled, and then dropped upon its knees, made another effort to rise, but failed, and doubled its hind-legs under it, to crouch so that the two barrels rested on the sand; and then the poor beast uttered a long hoarse sigh as if of relief, while for a time it made no further effort to stir.
Ned glanced at the ponies, the thought occurring to him that he ought to secure their reins; but they did not display the slightest desire to leave their companion, only stretching out their necks towards the mule and breathing hard before pressing forward slightly, to begin snuffing at one of the barrels.
This act set Ned’s wits working, and he recalled what Chris was about to do. He was so faint and giddy that it required a painful effort even to stir, but he caught the kerchief from his companion’s hand and began to unfasten the well-secured stopper of the nearest barrel, which stood steady enough now in the sand.
This done, he thrust in about half of the kerchief, let it soak full of water, raised it carefully so that every superabundant drop should fall back into the barrel, and then, pressing open Chris’s lips, squeezed a few drops between them, more and more as they were swallowed with avidity, and passed his wet hands over the prostrate lad’s temples.
This he did again and again, suffering an acute longing to treat himself in the same way, but resisting the temptation, till Chris closed his eyes with a weary sigh, his lips tightening together, and he lay motionless.
Ned soaked the handkerchief again, and pressed its contents in his own mouth, swallowing the moisture with avidity, noting the while that the two ponies were licking the farther barrel and breathing hard, as if they could feel the cool fresh odour of the water playing in their nostrils, while at the same time the mule, pinned down by the weight of the two barrels, strained its neck round and whinnied, as it looked piteously in his face.
The look had its effect, for the end of the kerchief was once more thrust into the barrel, allowed to soak, and then drawn out.