"It was outrageous to bring us here," she went on pettishly. "Ladies shouldn't be dragged into such hardships."
Thurstane wanted to say that he was not responsible for the journey; but he would not, because it did not seem manly to shift all the blame upon Coronado.
"I am very, very sorry," was his reply. "It is a frightful journey."
"Oh, frightful, frightful!" sighed Aunt Maria, twisting her aching back.
"But it will soon be over," added the officer. "Only twenty miles more to the river."
"The river! It seems to me that I could live if I could see a river. Oh, this desert! These perpetual rocks! Not a green thing to cool one's eyes. Not a drop of water. I seem to be drying up, like a worm in the sunshine."
"Is there no water in the flasks?" asked Thurstane.
"Yes," said Clara. "But my aunt is feverish with fatigue."
"What I want is the sight of it—and rest," almost whimpered the elder lady.
"Will our horses last?" asked Clara. "Mine seems to suffer a great deal."