CHAPTER XXXI
“TOMMIE’S GONE!”
“ROUSE up, Hank!”
Hank, snoring on his back, flung out his arms, opened his eyes, yawned and stared at the beautiful blazing morning visible through the tent opening.
“Lord! it’s good to be alive!” said Hank. He dressed and came out.
Candon was tinkering at the fire. The mule, on its feet now, was standing, whilst Tommie was feeding it with dried grass taken from the provender bag, the Mexicans, sitting like tired men, were smoking cigarettes, whilst the four mile beach sang to the crystal waves and the white gulls laughed.
It was a pretty picture.
Tommie came running to the heap of stores by the middle tent, chose a couple of tins, wrapped up some biscuits in a bit of newspaper and presented the lot to the Mexicans.
“They look so tired,” said she, as they sat down to breakfast.