“What kind of a snake was it?”
“How in the name of Johanna do I know! Do you think I’ve got eyes like a cat or do you think I stopped to affectionately examine it?”
“Tut! I feel as though I’m wet clear to my heart and I’m getting thirstier by the minute.”
“Don’t mention it, Rip. I only hope it gets light soon so we can get the lay of the land again and feed on some more berries. They’re individualists when it comes to the food line here—no competition.
“The bushes ought to be good and wet from all this rain and that’ll be a little moisture, anyway. Gee, I’ll never use the word berries in slang any more, Wes. They’ve certainly been a life-saver, but we’ll be getting fed up on them after another day. Suppose we haven’t found our way out by to-morrow night?”
“Well, we haven’t then. What’s the use of worrying about it until then?”
“I suppose that’s the best way to look at it. You’ve ten times more nerve than I’ll ever have!”
Westy liked that frankness in Rip. Despite his sullen stubbornness at times, he’d at least admit when he was beaten.
Morning came again—raining, and they started to walk on, Westy, the keen edge of his hopes dulled a little, but still outwardly cheerful and Rip silent in his disappointment.
After devouring more berries they went on, trying not to think of the imperious demand of their thirst, and as the morning wore on they became tired and stopped to rest again.