"One's enough to carry," said he. And the Baker made no answer as he swung his swag on his back. Even without food in it, it now felt sufficiently heavy. At noon, he, too, dropped a heavy blue blanket, and felt the loss of its weight as an extreme relief.
Their progress now was slow. They often rested, and sat in silence, sometimes broken by a bitter laugh from Smith.
"For Gawd's sake, old man," said the Baker, but he could say no more.
But that day they caught a brown snake, and cooked it on the coals. Smith was ill after it, and as white as death. They rose and staggered on. And during the night Smith was slightly delirious. He spoke in his sleep, and once or twice the Baker heard him say, "Carrie!"
Next morning Smith talked a good deal.
"It won't be much longer, Baker," he said. "And when I drop you go on. I found water for you. Perhaps you'll find food for me. I don't want to die in this hole. Some might be glad if I never turned up again, but I'll turn up if I can."
He gnawed his lip and his blonde moustache, and, turning the end of his beard into his mouth, he chewed it in deep contemplation.
"Money, money," he said, "why, what a fool a man is. There's gold everywhere in this country. It's more and more like it. I can smell it."
He rose, staggering, but, grabbing up his blankets, walked on, followed by the Baker.
"How many days without food, Mandy?"