"Clarkeville in fo' days it am den," echoed Elmer, "or bust."
"We've got six soup tablets. If we dine on one at ten o'clock in the morning and one at seven o'clock in the evening we'll have regular meals for three days."
"And de las' day we won't need none, we'll be in such a hurry," added the colored boy, happy again in Ned's company.
That was the spirit in which the expedition started. Late that afternoon they emerged from the timber and were on the sandy foothills where progress was faster. Ned's feet bothered him and he was in constant pain, but the adhesive plaster and cotton had been of the greatest help. There was no pause. The first day's schedule he was determined to make and at about eight o'clock the relief expedition gave a shout. The Chusco lay before them.
A little fire, some tea and bouillon—made in the pan after the tea was consumed—and the two boys found a bed on the soft sand with no covering but the deep Mexican sky. At dawn they were up and away after a bath in the muddy river. Elmer was now the guide and he readily picked up Buck's old wagon trail. Sharp at ten o'clock a halt was made for breakfast, bouillon now without tea. Ned, his face a little more sunken and his legs a little more unsteady than the day before, was sitting on the ground resting his burning feet, when Elmer suddenly touched him on the shoulder, set the soup pan quickly on the sand and drew his revolver.
Far down the trail a horseman was approaching. Behind him in the distance followed a wagon. What did this mean?
"Well, whoever it is, we'll have the soup," said Ned.
This consumed, Ned and his friend started forward.
"If it's good luck we'll meet it sooner this way," said Ned, "if it's bad we'll know the worst quicker."
But it was good luck. The rider soon galloped up and swung his wide hat in the air. It was Curt Bradley, the mayor of Clarkeville.