"I see nothing," he said. "Do you want to try 'em too, Jim?"
"No. Your eyes are of the best, and your news is good. It's likely that we've got a lead of seven or eight miles at least. Two or three miles more and we'd better turn for the mountains. Our horses are a lot bigger than those of the Sioux, but their ponies, though not much to look at, are made out of steel. They'd follow for days, and if we stuck to the plains they'd be sure to run us down at last."
"And we'd have little chance against a big Sioux band?"
"That's the ugly truth, and it's bound to be the mountains for us. I see a line on the prairie, Will. What do your glasses tell us about it?"
Young Clarke turned his gaze to the front, and after a single glance said:
"Water. It's one of those shallow prairie streams, I suppose, a foot of sand, and an inch of water on top."
"If there's not too much alkali in it it'll be mighty welcome to the horses. Ah, Selim smells it now!"
His great mount raised his head and neighed. Boyd smoothed his long, silky mane.
"Yes, old friend," he said, as if he were talking to a man, "I'm quite sure it won't have much alkali, you're going to have a nice, big drink, so are your friends, and then, ho! for the mountains!"
The stream was just what Will predicted it would be, a foot of sand and an inch of water, but it was only slightly brackish, and both horses and horsemen drank freely from it, took a rest and then drank as freely again. Another half hour and the two remounted.