“Sid!”—and there was a note of terror in Raymond’s voice—“maybe this country is like Lower California, and there is no surface water.”
“It can’t be; there are so many people living here.”
“But perhaps the people in the village get all their water from wells.”
“That’s so; I never thought of that; maybe they do.”
“I’m going back to the village, Sid, for water.” And Raymond struggled to his feet.
“We must not do a foolish thing, Ray, just because we feel desperate. If we go back I don’t believe we’ll ever leave there alive. I think there is water in the cañon above the village, too, for you know there was running water where we camped below.”
Raymond hesitated, partly convinced by his brother’s reasoning.
“What do you propose to do?” he asked.
“I think it’s too far to go back by the trail,” replied Sidney, “and we can’t get straight down the mountain in the dark. I blame myself for not noticing that we were climbing quite a grade, but that can’t be helped now, and really, I could hardly think of anything but water.”
“I can’t think of anything else now. You were not to blame, Sid, any more than I was. We were simply frantic, both of us.”