"You will kill yourself."
"No, for I must live; give me something to drink."
For the second time Brighteye handed him the gourd; the young man eagerly raised it to his lips. "Now!" he exclaimed, with a feverish accent, as he returned the gourd to the hunter, "to horse."
"What, to horse?" Brighteye said, with stupefaction.
"Yes; I must be moving."
"Why, that is madness."
"Let me alone, I tell you, I will hold on; but as the wound in the left arm prevents my getting into the saddle, I must claim your assistance."
"You wish it."
"I insist on it."
"Be it so; and may God be merciful to us."