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<h3>Chapter Twenty Six.</h3> <h4>A Victim.</h4> “And you made it all out clear straight and took your bearings, doctor?” said Griggs the next morning, as the last pulls were given to the mule-ropes—the last diamond-hitches made fast. “Yes, and it will be as easy as steering a boat. I could see the blue mountains from up yonder distinctly, but I’m afraid they’re more than a hundred miles away.” “Oh, I don’t know, sir; distances are deceiving, and it all depends upon the weather. Why, I’ve seen a mountain look fifty miles nearer just before rain. Now then, is there anything else we ought to do?” “I did everything yesterday that I thought right.” “Water-barrels well full?” “Yes, and every bottle and tin as well.” “Good,” said Griggs; “then the sooner we’re off the better.” Wilton sighed as they mounted, and gave a last glance at the beauties of the gully in which they had encamped, and again soon after as the little train wound on, with Skeeter’s bell chiming to the motion of his head, for at a turn before descending to the lower ground he had a glimpse of the far-spreading desert they were about to attack. It was beautiful in its way, but the grey monotony soon palled upon him who looked, and the eyes eagerly turned again to the refreshing green. In a couple of hours the last shrub had been left behind, and every one drew his breath hard and set his teeth, in the determination not to be baffled by the lesser troubles likely to hinder their way; but all the same, sighs once more rose for the beauty of the scenes and the refreshing breath of the mountains, which was already rapidly giving place to the hot reek of the sand and salt. For a time the boys were startled into wonderment at the change which came over the scene as the sun rose higher, for as the hazy mist that overspread the plain began to rise, there before them lay spread-out a wonderful expanse of water, one huge lake extending right to the horizon, dotted here and there with islands of beautiful form. “Why, I didn’t know—” began Chris. “Nor I,” cried Ned. “We shan’t want for water.” They pressed on to join the doctor and Griggs, who were once more leading, and before either of the boys could open his lips to question, the former exclaimed— “There, boys, you never saw the mirage so beautiful as that.” “Mirage! Then it isn’t water?” “Water? No; only a peculiar effect seen in the atmosphere over a heated plain. We shall see no water till we near the mountains on the other side. But there, talk as little as you can, and avoid this heated dust which rises from the mules’ hoofs.” “It’s wonderful!” cried Ned thoughtfully. “I felt sure that we were near a beautiful lake.” “Such as deceives travellers sometimes.” “Ah, it’s bad,” said Griggs, “when you’re crossing a plain, choking with thirst, and the water-bottles are empty. A sight like that has driven men mad before now with disappointment.” The boys recalled these words over and over again during their journey, for from the very first they realised what a tramp through such a desert meant—the sun came down with scorching power, and it was reflected up from the white sand and salt. At mid-day when they halted where there was no shadow but that cast by their four-footed companions, there was not a breath of air, and the poor brutes stood with hanging heads and drooping ears, panting and even sighing, while when the evening drew near the wind swept boisterously over the plain, but brought no refreshment, for not only was it hot, but it wafted up the fine, irritating dust and produced additional sensations of thirst. The march was kept on long after sundown, when another halt was made for refreshment; but there seemed to be none, for the amount of water used was small in the extreme, and after about an hour’s wait, during which the baggage animals had been relieved of their burdens, the doctor rose. “Now then,” he said sternly, “load up. We must keep on all through the night, and refresh again at daybreak.” “Refresh!” said Wilton dismally. “Well, rest the mules,” replied the doctor. “Then go on again for three or four hours and try and sleep through the hottest part of the day.” “What about keeping our course correctly through the night?” said Bourne. “There are the stars,” replied the doctor, pointing up to the clear sky. “I know exactly what to do. We must keep on now we have started, and bear it like men.” No one spoke, but “buckled to,” as Griggs called it, and to relieve the horses the party tramped by their side for the greater part of the night, during the early hours of which Chris grew more and more sleepy; but as they approached “night’s dull noon,” he grew more wakeful and relieved the tedium by talking to first one and then the other cheerfully enough, and never at a loss for something to say. “It might be worse, Ned,” he said once during the night. “Couldn’t be,” was the surly reply. “Oh, couldn’t it! It might come on to rain tremendously. Well, what are you laughing at?” he continued, for Griggs burst out into a hoarse guffaw. “You,” replied the American. “Don’t I wish it would rain! Why, it would cool everything. No, I don’t know that, for the earth’s so hot that all day to-morrow we should be in the midst of steam. It would refresh the horses and mules, though. Nice place this, isn’t it?” “Horrible! What’s the use of having all this desert?” “Don’t know,” said Griggs bluntly. “You tell me what’s the use of having all that sea, and then perhaps I’ll tell you.” They relapsed into silence then, and the monotonous tramp went on. There was no kicking or squealing among the mules. Skeeter tramped on with his bell going clang—clang—clang—clang, in accompaniment to his steps, and the other mules followed as if walking like so many shadows in their sleep, while the ponies seemed to follow their masters like dogs, ready to accept every pat on the neck or word of encouragement, and after raising their muzzles to the offered hand and looking through the darkness appealingly, as if asking how long it would be before they came to water. Morning at last. A halt, packs lowered to the ground, each animal’s mouth washed out with about a pint of the precious fluid—water, and then their ration given in the form of very stiff gruel. All this carefully done before the breakfast was attacked. “I don’t call it a breakfast,” grumbled Ned. “No, I wouldn’t,” said Chris. “Cheer up; we haven’t so far to go now as we had yesterday morning.” “Well, I know that,” snarled Ned, who seemed all on edge. Chris called it gritty, and said it was the sand—to himself. “He gets it on his temper,” thought the boy. “How queer it is that being hot and tired and thirsty makes any one so cross.” “Forward!” said the doctor at last, when the packs had been readjusted; and the dreary tramp began again, with the sun getting hotter and hotter every hour. “Oh dear!” groaned Ned, as they tramped side by side, each with his hand resting upon his pony’s neck and holding on by the mane. “That miserable tinful of water! Why, it was only half-a-pint, and it will be hours before we’re allowed any more. Why not let us have a pint all at once?” “Against the rules,” said Chris. “You should have made believe, as I did.” “Believe what?” “No, I didn’t believe it,” said Chris; “I only played at it. I drank my half-pint very slowly, and pretended it was a pint. You do the same the next time.” “Not going to be such a fool,” said Ned gruffly. “It’s all too real to play. Bother! Hang it! Yah! I wish there wasn’t a scrap of gold in the world.” “But there is, all the same. Come, cheer up, lad.” “Cheer down, you mean. It’s getting worse and worse, and I don’t believe we shall ever get across this horrible plain. What is there to be cheerful about?” “Well, here’s one thing—we’ve got away from the Indians. There isn’t a sign of them behind.” “Of course there isn’t,” grumbled Ned. “Indians are not such idiots as to come across a place like this.” “Griggs says they do sometimes.” “I don’t believe it; they must always go round. Oh, I do wish we hadn’t come.” Somehow or other, the more low-spirited and doleful Ned became, the more hopeful and cheery Chris seemed. Perhaps it was what he called make-believe, and put on by a great effort, but he was the brightest of the party and brought a smile to the lip of every one in turn with his light, trivial remarks, all of which, however, had a suggestion that, in spite of their terrible sufferings, he was looking at the best side of things. “I say, father,” he cried, as mid-day was approaching, “this is a better desert than the other one we crossed.” “I don’t see much difference, my boy. Why do you think so?” “It’s so nice and smooth. You don’t have to keep stumbling over stones.” “But that’s a fault, boy,” said his father. “Some of those great stones cast a little shade. Here we have none. Halt!” he cried loudly. “Four hours’ rest and sleep.” The mules were unloaded, the ponies’ saddles removed, and the tent-sheet was spread over the horizontal raised pole for shade, such as it was; and then no one thought of how, but lay down to sleep, lying motionless till the doctor summoned them again for the resumption of the march, when all began to compare notes. “Sleep? No, I never had a wink,” said Ned. “Who could sleep, with the sun seeming to burn a hole in that canvas?” “I didn’t go to sleep either,” said Chris; “but one feels a bit rested with lying down.” “No, one don’t,” said Ned; and the weary tramp went on, with nothing visible in front of the overstrained eyes but the glare, and a thick misty look as if the atmosphere was full of hot, dusty sand. The pace at which they went on appeared to be slower, but it was the party’s want of perception which diminished and magnified at the same time, principally the latter, in making the journey appear longer than it really was, while that hot afternoon went on in a nightmare-like waking dream which made Ned complain at last that he was going off his head. “I’m not,” said Chris, laughing. “I feel as if I’m always going off my legs.” “What nonsense!” grumbled Ned. “It isn’t; I feel so. It’s just as if my body goes on while my feet keep sinking in the sand and won’t keep up.” “I wish you wouldn’t talk,” said Ned. “Why? Do you want to think?” “No, of course I don’t. I only want to keep on in this half-asleep way; it makes it a little better then.” Another halt at sundown, a fairly good meal, and a refreshing sleep, before the doctor roused all once more towards midnight for the tramp that was to last till about ten o’clock the next day. All was done this time in silence, save that Bourne tried to say hopefully— “I should think we shall see the mountains quite clearly when day dawns.” But no one answered, for nobody believed they would. A feeling of despondency was making itself too plainly felt, and when broad daylight did at last come all that could be seen was sand and soda everywhere, not so much as a shrub or scrap of grass, only scattered stones here and there, and the party shrank from looking in each other’s wild and bloodshot eyes. “Forward,” said the doctor, at last. “We’ll keep on till about two hours before noon, and then have a good meal and rest till the sun’s low. We must be getting well on to our journey’s end.” About this time the doctor edged up close to Griggs and entered into conversation with him in a low tone, “What do you think of it?” he said. “Don’t think at all, sir,” was the reply. “But we shall do it?” “Must, sir.” “That’s right,” said the doctor, with a sigh of relief. “We must not think, but we must do it. We’ve got over the worst of it now, I feel sure.” The doctor was wrong, for there was an unexpected trouble ahead. Towards the promised time for the halt there was what all took for a more hopeful sign: the plain was growing more stony and undulatory, while sage-brush peeped out in clumps here and there, to be gladly welcomed by the animals, which lost not an opportunity of cropping the bitter shoots. The sun was getting hotter and hotter, and the doctor drew out his watch, to close it again with a snap which sounded curiously loud in the painful silence. “Only another hour,” he said, in a husky voice, “and then rest and breakfast.” He had hardly uttered the words when one of the mules, which had broken a little way from the line with outstretched muzzle, to nibble a few grey twigs, gave a leap which nearly dislodged its pack, and uttering a dismal squeal which was answered by two or three of its fellows, who turned their weary, straining eyes towards their companion, which now stood snorting and stamping angrily. “What’s the matter with the poor brute?” cried the doctor, who hurried towards the animal, closely followed by Griggs. “Take care, sir—that,” said the latter, in a whisper. “That? What do you mean?” “Bitten,” said Griggs laconically, as he raised the double rifle that he had unslung, took a rapid aim, and fired the barrel loaded with small shot at what seemed to be an undulating line of grey sand. The report sounded dull and dead, while as the smoke rose the undulating line of sand became a writhing tangle of something tying itself up into knots, untying itself, lashing the sand and dust up into a little cloud, and then as the dust rose the loathsome-looking length of a big snake became gradually clear to see, with the tail in the air announcing its owner’s nature by keeping up a peculiar skirring sound something like the running down of a distant piece of clockwork. “That’s done for him,” said Griggs, quietly reloading his piece. “Almost as big a one as they make ’em.” The little party closed round the dying reptile, and then followed the doctor to where he stepped up to the mule, which kept on stamping and making efforts to curve round and bite at its near hind-leg, but could not reach it on account of the pack it bore. Griggs slung his double rifle and seized the end of the pack-rope, casting loose the load and letting it slide to the ground, while the doctor cautiously approached to examine the place at which the mule now tore fiercely with its teeth. “Better not, sir,” said Griggs warningly. “But I want to try and help the poor brute,” said the doctor. “Yes, sir; that’s nice and humane,” said Griggs; “but mules are not horses nor dogs. The poor brute is mad with agony, and you’ll be kicked or bitten, to a dead certainty.” “I feel as if I must risk it,” said the doctor. “I might inject ammonia, and save its life.” He approached closer, holding out one hand and speaking soothingly to the poor beast; but it turned upon him viciously and snapped at the extended hand like a dog, fortunately biting short, for the snap was sharper than the snatch back made by the doctor’s hand. “I told you so,” said Griggs reproachfully. “Yes, we’re going to be a mule short this morning.” For the effort seemed to be too much for the animal, which staggered, spread-out its legs far apart, uttered a wild squealing bray, fell over on one side, and lay kicking and plunging as if going at full gallop as it lay. “You’re right, Griggs,” said the doctor. “But what strength there must be in that horrible poison! I should not have believed it would be so rapid and have such an effect upon an animal like that.” “It got a full dose of it close up where the skin’s thinnest, I suppose; and it was a big rattler, and no mistake.” Just then the mule made an effort to rise to its feet, but sank back to its former position, and its kicking and plunging grew weaker and weaker, till it lay panting, with outstretched neck and heaving flanks, evidently dying fast. “I might try and do something now,” said the doctor thoughtfully, “if the poor beast were held.” “Too late,” said Griggs quietly. “I don’t understand much about snake poison, but I should say that’s running all through the poor thing now.” But Chris’s father would not give up. Hide-ropes were cast loose, while he hurried to the load which contained the little case of medicines and surgical appliances which was kept ready for emergencies, and then armed with bottle and syringe he superintended while nooses were placed round the poor animal’s neck and four fetlocks, each being tightened and the rope held by some one. Chris and Ned were ordered to the fore-legs, Griggs took the neck rope, and Wilton and Bourne the hind-legs. At a word from the doctor the ropes were drawn taut and the poor beast stretched out helplessly upon its back, while the doctor seated himself astride, sought for the tiny punctures made by the rattlesnake’s poison-fangs, and found them where the skin was thinnest and most devoid of hair, the successful discovery being due to a tiny drop of yellowish gummy matter which had oozed out. A caustic was applied to this as soon as the tiny wound had been freely lanced and set bleeding, and then with the proper instrument a strong application of ammonia was forced into one of the mule’s larger veins, and all with the slightest of resistance being offered. Lastly, encouraged by the animal’s quiescence, a strong stimulative ball was thrust beyond the tongue and seen to pass down the throat. “I can do no more,” said the doctor, “but I should not have been satisfied if I had not tried. Be careful now how you loosen the ropes.” There was no difficulty, for the patient lay as still as if it had been utterly stupefied by the poison, and seemed to all appearance stretched out dead. Chris looked at Griggs, who loosened his noose last, and the man shook his head. “Could it breathe while that rope was round its neck?” said the boy. “Breathe? Yes, of course, my lad. The lariat did not press upon the wind-pipe. There’s no strangling in the poor brute’s case. It’s poison’s the matter there. I say, it has wakened us all up.” It was curious to note the effect to which Griggs had drawn attention. Before the mule was stricken every one in the party had been giddy and ready to faint with heat and exhaustion, oppressed by a sense of despair and the dread that the end of the present journey would never be seen; but as soon as a demand was made upon their energies, all the other troubles seemed to be forgotten on the instant, and they worked together heartily and with wonderful spirit, till they all stood watching the motionless mule. Bourne was the first to draw attention to the state of affairs, as he began wiping away the perspiration that streamed down his face. “I don’t think you’ve done the poor brute much good, Lee,” he said. “I’m afraid not. I ought to have begun sooner.” “But you’ve done us a lot,” continued Bourne. “Half-an-hour ago I didn’t seem to have an ounce of energy left in me. I felt as if there was nothing to do but lie down and die.” “And I felt the same,” chimed in Wilton. “But as soon as the demand was made upon me I forgot everything in the excitement, and I feel now ready to go on for hours.” “Yes,” said Wilton; “I feel as if Lee had been injecting new life through my veins. We’ve got all the benefit, while the poor mule is worse.” “Not much, sir,” cried Griggs. “Look at that!” There was no need for the order, every eye being directed at the injured animal, which after lying quiescent upon its side with outstretched neck and no signs of life save the slow, regular heaving of its flank, suddenly uttered a hoarse shout, gathered itself together, and rose quickly to its feet, to stand breathing heavily and coughing. “Why, I do believe he’s mastering the poison, doctor, and coming round.” There was no reply, every one being intent upon the mule’s movements. The hard breathing gradually ceased, and the poor brute shook itself, stamped with its injured hind-leg heavily, shook itself again, uttered an angry squeal, and curving itself round reached at the wound to bite the skin, acting, as Chris afterwards said, just as if it had been bitten by a fly. The next moment it straightened itself again, stretched out its neck, and whinnied in a way which brought answers from some of its companions, and then dropped upon its knees and rolled over, struggling a little before lying still, its last breath coming in a weary sigh. <hr /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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