"Say, what kind of a game are you trying to work, Captain Jinks of the Horse Marines?" he asked.
"It's not a game, I tell you," cried Ned furiously. "Those rascals who tied me took my papers. They have run off with them——"
"I guess it's you that have run off from your keepers," said the sentry, nodding his head sententiously.
It was hopeless. Even Ned, sore pressed as he was, saw that. The man was convinced that he was a crank or a crazy man of some sort and would have no dealings with him. Ned spied a canteen hung round the man's shoulder.
"At least, you'll give me a drink," he almost begged, so keen was his need.
"It ain't the sort of drink you want. Nothing but water," said the artilleryman.
"Good heavens, man, that's what I want!" rasped Ned through his parched lips. "Give me just a little. Then I'll go."
"Well, if that's all, drink hearty," said the man, in more friendly tones.
He cast a look behind him to make sure he was not observed, and then, unslinging his canteen, he passed it to Ned. The water was warm and tasted leathery, but to Ned it was unspeakably delicious. He threw back his head and let it stream over his parched palate and down his cracked throat.