"Nope. Now you're back, it don't. I reckon you done your dam'dest as the song says. Angels can do no less. Buck up, Billy! You 're limper'n a second-hand porous-plaster. Here, take a shot at this. That will stiffen your knees some. Did you meet up with anybody?"
"Not a soul. I thought I should freeze last night, though. I didn't imagine the desert could get so cold."
"Livin' out here on the old dry spot will either kill you or cure you. That's one reason I let you go look for them things. The harder you hit the trail, and can stand it, the quicker you'll get built up." Then Overland, realizing that his companion was worse than tired, that he was dispirited, became as wily as the proverbial serpent. His method, however, could hardly be compared with the dove's conciliatory cooing. "You sure are a bum scout," he began.
Winthrop flushed, but was silent.
"Bet a banana you didn't even leave the track and look for it."
"No, I didn't. Where could I have begun?"
Overland ignored the question. "I'm hungrier than a gorilla. Just send a wireless to them feet of your'n. We got some climbin' to do afore dark."
"I'd just as soon camp here. Go up to-morrow," said Winthrop.
"So'd I if it wasn't for bein' scared some of the hills would mosey off before I got back." And Overland set a brisk pace up the mountain, talking as he climbed. Winthrop could do nothing but listen. He was breathless.
"Or that cañon," continued Overland. "She might not be there if we stayed away all night. Besides, I'm scared to leave it alone by itself."