"That's all right," said Smith impatiently; "but I know their usual custom, and I'm justified in thinking what I say is right."
The Baker shook his head.
"And, granting as some white man lighted it, where is the bloomin' white man?"
And poor Smith's castle in the air collapsed. His head sank upon his breast.
"That's true," he groaned. "But it was a white man anyhow. When it's light we can search and see if there is nothing to confirm it."
"No," said the Baker; "if it's so, don't let's waste no time. Let's hoff straight down the creek. If so be as he was 'ere at all, 'e would go that way. And I dare say we shall find 'im a bloomin' corpse, if we find 'im at all."
"You're a croaker," said Smith, who was recovering again, and they lay down till dawn.
The pace they went at the next day was very slow, for they were at an extremity. The internal pains which had tormented them on the second and third days of starvation returned again like seven devils worse than the first, and Mandeville, who was the stronger, suffered the most. They had covered little more than six miles, when they camped just before noon.
"If we strike nothing to-night, it's all up with Smith," said the Baker, and when they started again about three o'clock, he insisted on carrying his chum's swag.
"Drop them both," said Smith.