“Doesn’t seem to be many berries around here, Rip! I’m getting hungry again. Shall we go ahead?”
“I don’t care. Whatever you say; but for my part, I’m kind of sick of them. I’ve got to have water, Wes, that’s all there is to it!”
“I know, Rip, but that is stagnant water—it’s dangerous and vile!”
But Rip had come to the point where Nature was forcing him and made him fearless of the danger of anything, for before Westy had finished warning him he was down on his knees, taking draught after draught of the green-looking water in his small cupped hands.
Westy shuddered as he watched the stuff drip through Rip’s fingers and hoped he would be given the strength to refrain from drinking it for a while at least.
They trudged on again, hardly caring now where they went, and Rip stopping at intervals to consume more and more of the putrid water in spite of Westy cautioning him to stop.
Shivering though they both were, in their wet garments, Westy noticed a decided hectic flush upon Rip’s face and it worried him.
It was getting dark again, and still no lull in the storm, but Westy’s weary-looking eyes brightened as he caught sight of something ahead.
“Look, Rip, old top! On the ground!”
“What is it?”