But at the sight of the hideous thirst-land the Baker was done.
"I guess I'm finished," he said. "I'd rather stay and die where there's water."
He sat down, and looked despairing for the first time. It made Smith pluck up courage. It would never do for both to be down at once.
"Cheer up, old man," he said. "I guess this river must come out again. It's not likely to go into the bowels of the earth. And that tree is not more than thirty miles away. We can do that easy."
"No water-bags," said the Baker.
And Smith sighed. If the sand were as heavy all the way they could hardly hope to do much more than a mile an hour. If they started at sundown or a little before, that would mean toiling through the night, only to reach it by the next night, if they had no other bad luck.
"We must try it," he said. "Let's have the canoe up. It will give us a bit of shade. And we must start the moment the sun begins to go down."
They dragged the boat out of the water, and laying it bottom upmost, scooped some of the sand away on the south side. They could, at any rate, get shelter for their heads.
But Kitty would not lie down. She asked the Baker for his knife, and went away a little distance.
"She's after guanners," said the Baker. But he was wrong.