He thrust the empty whiskey flask into his hip pocket, and went back to pass a sling of reeds through the gills of the coryphene.
“All ready now,” he called. “Let’s get a move on. Keep my coat closer about your shoulders, Miss Jenny, and keep your shade up, if you don’t want a sunstroke.”
“Thank you, Blake, I’ll see to that,” said Winthrope. “I’m going to help Miss Leslie along. I’ve fastened our two shades together, so that they will answer for both of us.”
“How about yourself, Mr. Blake?” inquired the girl. “Do you not find the sun fearfully hot?”
“Sure; but I wet my head in the sea, and here’s another souse.”
As he rose with dripping head from beside the pool, he slung the coryphene on his back, and started off without further words.
CHAPTER IV
A JOURNEY IN DESOLATION
Morning was well advanced, and the sun beat down upon the three with almost overpowering fierceness. The heat would have rendered their thirst unendurable had not Blake hacked off for them bit after bit of the moist coryphene flesh.
In a temperate climate, ten miles over firm ground is a pleasant walk for one accustomed to the exercise. Quite a different matter is ten miles across mud-flats, covered with a tangle of reeds and rushes, and frequently dipping into salt marsh and ooze. Before they had gone a mile Miss Leslie would have lost her slippers had it not been for Blake’s forethought in tying them so securely. Within a little more than three miles the girl’s strength began to fail.