It would be impossible to picture their sufferings throughout that long night. They did not sleep even for a moment. The agonising pangs of thirst as well as the uncertainty of what was before them on the morrow kept them awake. They did not even picket their horses—for there was no grass near the spot where they were—but sat up all night holding their bridles. Their poor horses, like themselves, suffered both from thirst and hunger; and the mule Jeanette occasionally uttered a wild hinnying that was painful to hear.
As soon as day broke they remounted, and continued on along the edge of the barranca. They saw that it still turned in various directions; and, to add to their terror, they now discovered that they could not even retrace the path upon which they had come, without going all the way back on their own tracks. The sun was obscured by clouds, and they knew not in what direction lay the stream they had left—even had they possessed strength enough to have reached it.
They were advancing and discussing whether they should make the attempt, when they came upon a deep buffalo-road that crossed their path. It was beaten with tracks apparently fresh. They hailed the sight with joyful exclamations—as they believed that it would lead them to a crossing. They hesitated not, but riding boldly into it, followed it downward. As they had anticipated, it wound down to the bottom of the barranca, and passed up to the prairie on the opposite side, where they soon arrived in safety.
This, however, was no termination to their sufferings, which had now grown more acute than ever. The atmosphere felt like an oven; and the light dust, kicked up by their horses’ hoofs, enveloped them in a choking cloud, so that at times they could not see the butte for which they were making. It was of no use halting again. To halt was certain death—and they struggled on with fast-waning strength, scarcely able to retain their seats or speak to one another. Thirst had almost deprived them of the power of speech!
It was near sunset, when the travellers, faint, choking, panting for breath, bent down in their saddles, their horses dragging along under them like loaded bees, approached the foot of the eminence. Their eyes were thrown forward in eager glances—glances in which hope and despair were strangely blended.
The grey, rocky bluff, that fronted them, looked parched and forbidding. It seemed to frown inhospitably upon them as they drew near.
“O brothers! should there be no water!”
This exclamation was hardly uttered, when the mule Jeanette, hitherto lagging behind, sprang forward in a gallop, hinnying loudly as she ran. Jeanette, as we have said, was an old prairie traveller, and could scent water as far as a wolf could have done her own carcass. The other animals, seeing her act in this manner, rushed after; and the next moment the little cavalcade passed round a point of rocks, where a green sward gladdened the eyes of all. They saw grass and willows, among whose leaves gurgled the crystal waters of a prairie spring; and in a few seconds’ time, both horses and riders were quenching their thirst in its cool current.