"Yes."
"And so no one will try to find us?
"No."
Ryanne had asked these questions a dozen times and George had always given the same answers.
Up and away at dawn, for they must reach the well that night. It was a terrible day for them all. Even the beasts showed signs of distress. And the worst of it was, Mahomed was not quite sure of his route. Fortunately, they found the well. They drank like mad people.
Ryanne, who had discovered a pack of cards in his pocket, played patience upon a spot smoothed level with his hand. He became absorbed in the game; and the boys gathered round him curiously. Whenever he succeeded in turning out the fifty-two cards, he would smile and rub his hands together. The boys at length considered him unbalanced mentally, and in consequence looked upon him as a near-holy man.
Between Fortune and George, conversation dwindled down to a query and an answer.
"Can I do anything for you?"
"No, thanks; I am getting along nicely."
To-night she retired early, and George joined Ryanne's audience.