He brought up the horses, which were not in such bad case as they might have been.
"They don't look so bloomin' bad," said the Baker.
"I'll tell you what, Smith, I believe there's a drop o' water round here somewhere. I heard a mosquito this morning, and it's a deal too dry for them if there ain't water."
He went to look, and at the end of the patch of timber, and just under the roots of a tree, he found mud marked with trampling hoofs.
"It's a pity they didn't leave some, and then we could have filled up the bags," said the Baker. He went back and told his chum.
"We're in luck's way," said Smith, who was in a fever of suppressed excitement. "That saves a quart of water. I'd have given the poor devils a pint apiece, if we'd died ourselves."
And an hour before dawn they got away and travelled fast.
For two or three hours their north-east way led them through much the same country as they had passed through before, for it was as flat as a calm sea, and bare of scrub higher than a horse's knee. But when the sun was two hours up they came to a more rolling country, which was here and there broken by a dried creek bed. Yet sign of water was none. It seemed that the heavy rain which had tempted them out had not fallen there. Yet right ahead of them was a low range which looked timbered.
"How far is it?" asked the Baker.
"I should guess thirty miles," said Smith.