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Peril Finders

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<h3>Chapter Twenty Seven.</h3> <h4>Won’t You Say Good-Bye?</h4> Every eye kept a sharp lookout as soon as the journey was recommenced, and a strong effort was made to place a few miles between the party and a spot evidently infested with the venomous reptiles of whose power such a terrible example had been seen. Plenty of energy too was displayed for quite a couple of hours. Then it died out at once; the boys and animals seemed as if they could go no farther, and a halt was called in about the barest spot they had seen. Several more suitable places had been passed—places where there was a scanty growth of sage-brush, others where the plain was rocky or encumbered with stones; but the doctor’s word was “Forward,” and the order was obeyed, for in the eyes of the adventurers every bush and every stone appeared to be the haunt of a dangerous enemy. Where they halted at last the plain all round was thick with a dull silvery haze which intensified the heat of the sun, whose rays seemed to be passing through a burning-glass, and it was only in obedience to desperate efforts that the tent-cloth was stretched for shelter and the animals watered and fed more sparingly than before. The provisions were spread-out, but no one could eat. Every word and look was about the water and directed at the fast-emptying keg that carried it, other vessels having long since been exhausted. “We must lie here till the sun goes down,” said the doctor, almost solemnly, in spite of his effort to speak calmly; “it would be madness to persevere through this heat. Then we must make a brave effort to reach the mountains by morning.” “And if we don’t?” said Wilton. “Don’t say if, sir,” cried Griggs. “We must do it.” “If there are any to reach,” said Bourne, to himself; but his words were heard. “If there are any!” cried the doctor hoarsely. “I tell you there are. We saw them distinctly, Griggs and I.” “That’s so, gentlemen,” said the American. “Then you must have lost your way, doctor.” “I have not if there is any truth in a compass. I laid down our course, and we have not deviated a bit. The sun and stars too have endorsed my calculations. Come, lie down and try to sleep. Afterwards we will serve out some more water, and walk all through the night. We must be nearly across now.” There was no answer made to this, every one lying down to try and forget the agonies of the intense heat and thirst in the sleep which would not come. Chris and Ned were together, and lay so that they could look into each other’s eyes despairingly; but neither spoke, closing their lids at last so as not to see, though with no expectation of obtaining the much-needed restful forgetfulness. But it came, and when Chris opened his eyes again it was to see by the dull red glow that evening was close at hand. He raised himself upon his arm, and the faint sound he made was sufficient to rouse Ned, who also sat up, and looked at him wonderingly, as if he did not quite understand where he was, till Chris bent towards him and whispered—“Come outside.” Ned followed him without glancing at the speaker, and they stood together in the misty heat glow, to note with wonder that some one was moving about from pack to pack and pausing from time to time to pat the mules. The haze seemed to have thickened with the approaching night, so that the figure was indistinct and hard to see, but after making a few steps Chris said quickly— “Why, it’s Griggs. What’s the matter with him? He’s staggering about as if looking for something.” “The water-barrels,” whispered Ned hoarsely, and he caught Chris by the arm. “What! He wouldn’t,” said the boy angrily. “Let’s see what he’s doing.” The American evidently heard their approach, for he turned to gaze at them strangely; but he made no effort to join them, standing slowly rocking himself to and fro and saving himself from falling by clinging to the mule at whose side he stood. “What’s the matter, Griggs?” said Chris hoarsely. “Oh, it’s you!” was the reply. “I could see you both coming, but you looked swollen up into giants, and I couldn’t make it out.” “But what are you doing here?” “Doing here? Yes, I remember. We must find where the water is to-night, or it will be too late.” “Oh, don’t say that,” cried Ned, in a hoarse whisper. “Yes, that’s it,” said Griggs strangely. “Must find the water to-night, or it will be too late. I’m going to ride on, but I can’t find the mustangs.” “They’re over yonder,” said Ned quickly, pointing to where the ponies could be dimly-seen. “No; I’ve been over there, and they’re gone.” “Going to ride on?” said Chris, as a thought struck him. “Yes, before it’s too late.” “But you are not in a fit state to ride on, Griggs.” “No. Everything is going round and round. Head’s all strange and queer.” “You couldn’t sit a horse now.” “No,” said the man drowsily, as he laid his arms across the mule’s back, falling forward to slide to the ground, for the mule took two or three steps to get out of his way. “Oh, Chris,” groaned Ned, “what shall we do?” The boy addressed did not reply for some moments, and then he repeated the American’s words as if to himself. The next minute he seemed full of energy, and caught his companion by the shoulder. “Ned,” he said, “let’s take the mule with the empty barrels, and ride on to get water.” “Where?” said Ned dismally. “Amongst the mountains.” “Where are they?” “Over there,” said Chris, pointing. “Where’s over there?” “To the left of where the sun’s going down. That’s where we’ve been making for all the time.” “Ride on?” “Yes; it will be quickest.” “Come and ask father what he thinks.” “No,” said Chris; “it would be losing time.” “We should never find it, and only die of thirst right away from the others.” “We should find it. We must find it, and bring some back.” “But the barrels—they’re not empty yet.” “They are,” said Chris solemnly. “I stood by this afternoon, and saw every drop drained out.” “Oh!” groaned Ned. “Then it’s all over now.” “It isn’t, I tell you. We must go.” “We couldn’t do it; we’re too weak. Come and ask your father what he says.” “It’s of no use: I feel sure he’s like poor Griggs here. There, the sun’s going down, looking red as blood. Quick; the ponies can carry us, and we’ll get the mule with the empty barrels between. He’ll go then.” “Let’s ask Wilton to go.” “Let’s try and act like men,” cried Chris passionately. “There, you mustn’t oppose me. That’s the way, straight there by where the sun is sinking. It must be right. You must, you shall come.” One weaker than Chris was then would have been sufficient to overawe Ned in those terrible moments, and he yielded without another word. The two water-barrels with their linking-chain and the wooden wool-stuffed pack-saddle lay ready, and the mule that had borne them suffered itself to be led to where it stood snuffling at the wooden vessels and passing its tongue about the bung-holes, till they were slung across its back, and then it stood quietly enough, as if instinctively grasping the object of this movement. As for the ponies, they raised their heads from where they were striving to get a little nourishment from some dust-covered twigs, and whinnied their welcome to their masters when they were saddled and bridled. All was soon ready, when Chris raised his head to mark exactly where the sun had disappeared—a hard task, for the heat haze was thicker than ever. “Where’s that star?” he said impatiently. “Which star?” “That one that goes down of a night three hours after the sun. The one my father used to guide us by in the early part of the night, and said that it was a planet.” “I don’t know. I never heard him say anything about it.” “He did to me. There, there. High up; I can see it now; but it looks faint through this thick dusty air, and it’s higher up than I thought for. It will be clearer, and lower down by and by.” “Are you going to steer by that?” “Yes, of course. Ready?” “No; we must go and tell our fathers what we are going to do.” “No, we mustn’t,” said Chris stubbornly; “they’d only say we mustn’t go, and after what Griggs said I’m sure it’s our only chance. We must get water and bring it back, if they’re to be saved.” “But are you sure of that? Mayn’t they be better in the morning, and ready to go on?” “Not unless we get back with water. Now then, will you come?” “I daren’t, Chris,” said Ned, with a groan; “it’s too horrible.” “Then you’re afraid?” “How can I help it? See how dreadful it will be to strike right off into the desert all alone.” “Not so horrible as to stop here and see the others die like that poisoned mule. Come.” “I can’t: it’s cowardly to go and leave them.” “It isn’t,” cried Chris; “it’s brave, and we shall find the water and bring it back. Come, we’re wasting time. Come on.” “I dare not.” “Very well,” said Chris. “When father wakes in the morning, tell him what I’ve done, and why.” “What shall I say?” cried Ned hoarsely. “That I felt it was the only chance of saving all our lives; and if I don’t come back it’s because I couldn’t find water, Ned.” “And then?” “Good-bye.” “What do you mean by good-bye?” “I don’t know,” said Chris sadly. “Only good-bye.” He held out his hand, but snatched it back and hurried beneath the spread-out tent-canvas, to drop upon his knees close to where the doctor lay plunged in a deep stupor more than sleep. Chris did not rest there many minutes before he sprang up again and walked hurriedly to where Ned stood with the two ponies and the mule. “Good-bye,” said Chris then. Ned made no reply, and giving his companion one long reproachful look, Chris placed his foot in the stirrup and sprang up into the saddle. “Won’t you say good-bye?” he cried. “No,” was the reply, almost in a whisper, and with the darkness coming on fast now Chris turned away his head and leaned to the farther side of his pony, to catch hold of the long hide-rope attached to the mule’s snaffle-bit. Then pressing the mustang’s sides with his heels, the brave little beast stepped off boldly, the mule following close behind at the full length of the lariat, while the boy fixed the star with his eyes and made for it straight through the gathering gloom, which seemed to open out to receive him, and then closed in behind, so that after the first glance backward the boy made no other, for tent-cloth, packs, saddles, and the horses and mules had been absorbed by the haze. If he had turned his head though, ever so little, he would have been able to see Ned standing by his pony; but he felt that he could not do that for fear of the weak feeling which caused a strange swelling in his throat increasing and causing a breakdown of the determination to which he had come. “I can’t do it,” he groaned, as he rode on at a walk, and then repeating the word “Good-bye!” in a whisper, he bent forward a little, gave the hide lariat a jerk, and pressing his pony’s sides, went off at an ambling trot, the mule following at once with the two barrels rolling against the wood of the pack-saddle, and with the chains making a peculiar hollow and jingling sound. “If it were not so hot!” he muttered then, as he strove to think only of the object he had in view. “We ought to get over a long distance before daylight, for I feel as if I shall be able to do it, and the mountains may be near when the broad daylight comes.” He was getting along at a fair pace now, gazing straight at the planet and listening to the rattle of the two barrels, when his pony uttered a sharp neigh, which was followed by a squeal from the mule—two challenges uttered by those whose hearing was keener than their master’s, and responded to by another neigh from behind. In less than a minute, and before Chris had made up his mind which of the ponies was following, there was the beat of hoofs, and something shadowy closed in from the haze behind, to come close alongside. “Who’s that? You, Ned?” “Yes,” came in a husky voice. “What do you want?” “You know. I can’t let you go all alone.” “What!” cried the boy, in a hoarse, cracked voice. “You don’t mean—” “Yes, I do. You must be right.” It was the speaker who held out a dimly-seen hand now, one that was grasped and held while the ponies closed in so much together that the boys’ legs touched as they cantered steadily on straight for a line drawn down in imagination from the planet now twinkling brightly—the guiding star which both boys mentally prayed might lead them to the object of their quest. Then cantering steadily till the ponies dropped into a walk to avoid rough ground, the two lads rode on and on, with the barrels rolling behind, and the hours gently gliding by unheeded, till the glittering star sank lower and lower and dropped at last into the great bed of haze which seemed to extinguish it all at once, but not until Chris had marked down another to take its place as their goal. Neither spoke, for their heads were too full of the object they had in view, with its hopes and many fears. The ponies kept on straight for the starry guides, not deviating in the least from the point at which their heads had been directed by their riders, and the mule followed steadily behind, with the empty barrels keeping up their hollow, rumbling sound, and it was this that seemed to form a strange lulling accompaniment to the boys’ thoughts, which in the course of their progress gradually darkened into a confused nightmare-like state. It was not sleep, but a stupor in which they kept on their horses instinctively, from no voluntary effort of their own. The state of exhaustion and weakness into which they had been lapsing during the perilous journey must have had much to do with their feelings, and robbed them of the power to feel more than a dull, numbing pain which came and went as their steeds ambled or walked unchecked or guided by rein, for even the lariat had glided from Chris’s fingers and trailed along behind the mule upon the sand. Not that it mattered, for the mongrel beast kept steadily on behind its companions, trotting or cantering or dropping into a walk as they gave it the cue, but never once stopping to rest or attempting to browse. Always onward, straight onward, while the riders sank deeper and deeper into their strange stupor-like state, which, in one faint struggle back into partial consciousness, Chris had likened to the closing-in of the sultry haze which seemed to him to press upon him as if it grew so thick that it held him fast what time he was being urged through it. Then utter unconsciousness of everything, which lasted without change and as if the very calm, restful, painful end of all things had come. <hr /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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