"About five miles if my reckoning is right," answered the guide. "No need to look for water holes now that it is dark. We shan't find any unless we accidentally fall into one."
"You are about the most cheerful prophet I've ever known," declared Lieutenant Wingate. "Glad you weren't with us in the war."
"At least, Mr. Lang has made good all his forecasts. You must admit that," reminded Miss Briggs.
"He has, bad luck to him!" growled Hippy, which brought a grin to the thin, bronzed face of the desert guide.
It was nearly ten o 'clock when Hi finally ordered a halt. The Riders, upon looking about them, observed that there was considerable vegetation there, sage, cactus, dwarfed trees and shrubbery, scattered, twisted, misshapen things, all of them.
"Turn the ponies loose immediately," directed the guide. "They will get a little moisture from the green stuff. Never mind staking down. They will not run away. Ping, start a fire and cook something. Sorry, folks, but it will have to be a dry supper this time."
"Where is that relief you were promising us a century or so ago?" demanded Nora Wingate.
"Yes, Mr. Lang. We have been patient and borne our thirst uncomplainingly. Now, we MUST have relief. I don't want a dry supper, I want water!" cried Emma.
Anne said she feared that she too had about reached her limit.
"Be patient, girls. Mr. Lang is doing the best he can," urged
Grace.