The lads gazed at him in astonishment, yet both were too utterly exhausted and parched to speak.
In less than five minutes the correspondent returned, staggering under the load of a distended water bottle.
"Drink" he said, holding up the skin for Gerald to take, "but be careful not to spill a drop."
Longingly Hugh watched his companion take a deep draught of the life-giving fluid, but patiently he waited his turn.
"And you, Mr. Reeves?" asked Gerald, as the correspondent carefully retied the mouth of the goatskin when Hugh had drunk.
"I've had some already. I had what was over; it was not much, but enough."
Both lads knew where the water had been obtained, although the idea had not previously entered their heads. Nature has provided the camel with unique means of carrying a large supply of water, which, until required, remains as fresh as can be expected; and, with the knowledge of this peculiarity, Reeves had deftly drawn the precious fluid from the dead hierie.
Then the tedious, anxious journey was resumed. The sun, now high in the heavens, beat fiercely upon the white burnouses of the travellers, while the sand underfoot was so hot that Reeves could scarce place his feet to the ground, in spite of the fact that his well-made boots still stood the wear and tear of days in the desert. Yet uncomplainingly he tramped full five weary miles before Gerald insisted on giving up his camel to his elder.
Hour after hour passed without any sign of the hoped-for river. At length the ground, still sandy, though dotted here and there with masses of smooth, rounded rock, began to slope upwards, apparently without a break, for nearly five miles.
Reeves looked grave when he saw this. They were heading at right angles the supposed direction of the river, and the land was rising. The river could not possibly run uphill. Perhaps beyond—if not, the disappointment would be enough to crush even his powers of resolution.