"Oh, we can guess at that near enough. The land is due north from here. It will be in that direction." Bert glanced quickly at the sun, then pointed to where the prairie spread out, beyond a few scattered bluffs, into a huge, open country. Through the openings between the trees, the vista seemed to extend over the edge of the world. They returned to their camp to consult with Trailey. After communing with the spirits, that gentleman would very likely be in excellent fettle for making some useful suggestions. Except in matters to do with the party's commissariat, his innocuous advice was never heeded by the others, although for courtesy's sake he was always consulted.
The mosquitoes were playing terrible havoc with him, yet he still slept. He was flat on his back. A handkerchief covered his face, and his thick, podgy hands were clasped across his waistcoat. Where the handkerchief rested on his nose was the spot chosen by three or four very intelligent mosquitoes as an ideal place to drill for blood. Others had taken a keen fancy to his white, smooth wrists; yet others, the obtuse ones, to his beefy ankles decked out in home-knit socks of rugged texture.
"Wake up, dad!" called Esther to her beloved parent. She gently drew the handkerchief off his face. "We've almost found the land!"
Trailey opened his eyes, stared at the vivid blue sky above him, sat up, blinked a few times, then slowly came to life.
"Where are we, my dear?" he yawned, as he unconsciously attacked his wrists with his fingernails, from which operation he appeared to derive exquisite pleasure. Then he felt of his nose.
"Can you see anything wrong with my nose, Esther? I've been dreaming I was tied down fast in a beehive."
"The mosquitoes have bitten you, dad, that's all," laughed Esther. "It'll be better when it's swelled, and it's doing that now. Pain always subsides after swelling. But, come along, Sam's getting the horses ready, and I'm going to pack up." Assisted by Bert, Esther began to clear away the remains of the banquet.
"By Jove! these bites are painful, Esther; and the itching is maddening," groaned Trailey, scratch his wrists and ankles vigorously.
"That shows they're getting better, dad," laughed Esther, with that perfect sympathy for which very young women are noted. Curiously, she herself was not the slightest bit bothered by the mosquitoes.
"I hope it does," said Trailey miserably. "Have we anything I could put on the bites, my—— Oh! here's your mother; she'll know what to do!"