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<h3>Chapter Twenty Eight.</h3> <h4>A Mule’s Scent.</h4> Ned had much the same account to give as Chris of his sensations about the waking up on hearing a loud snorting and splashing, accompanied by the squealing of the mule and the rattling of the tubs and chain. Sleep or stupor, whichever it was, the boys had kept their seats during the night, and at early dawn when Chris opened his eyes, half startled by the splashing, he saw what looked like a grey plain covered with dried-up salt, stretching right away to a thick bank of what appeared to be clouds. Then as he sat staring wonderingly, he saw that the salt plain seemed to be in motion, little waves passing away from where he sat; and then, as the truth gradually dawned upon his misty brain, he slipped off his pony, to stand knee-deep in water and begin to scoop up the soft cool fluid and drink. He had swallowed several mouthfuls before his brain grew clearer, and then his first matter-of-fact un-dreamlike thought was of Ned, and he cried aloud— “Water, water!” The answer was a gurgling sound from somewhere to the right, and turning in that direction just as there was a tremendous splashing, he became aware of the fact, dimly-seen in the grey dawn, that his companion was also standing knee-deep and drinking; the ponies were calmly drawing in the refreshing fluid between their slightly-parted lips, and the mule was wallowing and trying to roll over, every now and then sending its legs in the air, for them to come down again and raise quite a spray, for the effort to turn right over was a failure, the two barrels secured to the animal’s back acting like buoys and keeping afloat. The next moment, regardless of his clothes, Chris dropped upon his knees, bent down till his lips were within touch of the water, and then he drank, so it seemed to him, as he had never drunk before. Breathless after a while he raised his head again. “Ned! Oh, isn’t it glorious!” There was no reply, for his companion was now bending down and drinking with avidity. But at last he too raised his head at the same time that the mule ceased splashing, stood up in the water, and gave itself a tremendous shake, before lowering its muzzle and drinking like the mustangs. “Ned!” cried Chris. “Why don’t you say something?” “I can’t,” was the reply. And then: “I say, is it true, or only part of the long dream?” “True, true!” cried Chris. “But look sharp. Let’s fill the barrels and get back to camp.” “Hah!” ejaculated Ned in a long sigh. “Fill the barrels—get back. Yes, I’m beginning to be able to think now. My head felt all shut up and as if it wouldn’t go. We have found water, then.” “Yes, and we’ve been drinking, and—What are you doing?” There was no answer, for Ned did not hear, from the simple fact that he had suddenly plunged his head right under water, to hold it there for nearly a minute, before raising it streaming. “Oh, Chris,” he cried, “do that; it’s lovely!” His comrade wanted no more inciting to follow the example set, keeping his head below the surface in despite of the water thundering in his ears, till he was obliged to raise it and breathe. “If we only had time for a swim,” he cried, as he stood up panting once more. “Yes, let’s have one.” “No,” said Chris; “the barrels—we must fill them and get back.” “Yes, of course,” cried Ned. “I can’t think properly yet. My head’s all muddly. But how can we fill them? If we take them off can we lift them on the mule’s back again?” “Perhaps not,” cried Chris. “But I know,” he added, after a pause. “Do you? Oh, my head’s so muddly. Let’s be quick and get back. I’m beginning to think now. Why, what wretches we are, drinking away here, and my father must be dying of thirst.” “Yes. Don’t talk,” cried Chris huskily. “Here, get to the other side of the mule and take hold of the bit.” Ned stared, but obeyed, and together they led the animal between them, wading farther into the lake, with the water gradually getting deeper, when as it grew breast-high Ned burst out with— “Yes, the water seems to have melted something in my head, and I can think now. I say, are there any alligators here?” “I don’t know,” replied Chris. “Perhaps.—Come on, you brute!” he roared, for the mule began to jib and refused to go any farther in when from its own natural buoyancy and that of the barrels its legs refused to touch the bottom. Chris’s fierce shout was accompanied by a heavy dig in the side from his knee, an act which Ned imitated with the result that the mule snorted, tossed up its head, and then lowered it, prior to kicking up its heels. But in performing the evolution of lowering its muzzle its mouth went down into the cool water, and the opposition ceased in the enjoyment of drawing in mouthfuls of the limpid element, while with all four legs separated to the utmost, the animal now refused to move. “You brute!” roared Ned. But the mule was quite aware of that fact. It knew it was one of the most despised of brutes, and had been told so till it ceased to have any effect, while now that it was drinking, whip or spur, kick or blow would have had no effect. “Never mind,” cried Chris. “I know—we can manage.” As he spoke he rapidly opened the tompion-like cover of one bung-hole, letting it rattle down by the side of the empty barrel and hang by its little brass chain, and then dragged at the barrel, trying vainly to bring the opening down to a level with the water. “Oh, do something, Ned,” shouted Chris. “We ought to be on the way back. Shove your barrel up as high as you can.” Ned thrust his shoulder under the side and forced the barrel up, and the wooden pack-saddle gave a little at the same time. “That do?” he cried. “Yes, splendid!” For by pressing down with all his force Chris got the opening level at last with the water, which began to stream in till its weight rendered the task less difficult, and by degrees the barrel kept its own position, the air within going out in strange hollow sounds as it was dislodged. “Now I’m more than half full, Ned,” cried Chris eagerly. “I’ll hoist up my side while you draw your barrel down.” This task proved more difficult, but after a few tries a little water rushed into the empty receptacle. Then a little more and a little more, till Chris thrust upward with all his might, and the clear fluid ran in with a rush, till the mule raised its head, shook the drops from its muzzle, and whinnied. Then, feeling far less buoyant from what it had drunk and the way in which the light barrels began to be turned into weights which kept it steady, there was no more resistance to being led in deeper, so that with very little effort the casks were lowered in turn till the water ceased to flow in, and the tompions were replaced and safely secured. The water was now, at every movement made, passing in little waves right over the mule’s spine, and there it stood showing its teeth as if preparing to bite, but made no vicious effort, only stood blinking its eyes and turning its ears in all directions as if in the height of enjoyment. As soon as the second barrel was secured, “full to the bung,” the mule’s head was turned. “Go on!” shouted Chris, and it slowly walked out of the shallowing water, till it stood dripping on the sandy marge. “Now,” cried Chris, “I’m going to lead my mustang in as far as I can wade, so as to get regularly soaked, and it will freshen the beasts too.” “Yes, capital. Shall we take off the saddles?” “No, we won’t stop.” The ponies were led in till only their necks were out of the water, and then turned towards the shore; but they stopped twice to drink, and were approaching the spot where the mule stood, when Chris uttered a cry and caught at his saddle to save himself, his pony at the same moment making a plunge and snorting violently. “What’s the matter?” cried Ned anxiously. “Some big fish struck at me suddenly. No, I know, it must have been a big alligator.” Ned’s jaw dropped and his eyes opened very wide as he began to splash through the water as hard as he could go, the pony following willingly enough, but only to snort and plunge as a swell of water rose before them where the water was very shallow, and a dark, bark-like, glistening back was seen for a moment, followed by a tapering tail, as a reptile glided by. “I wonder whether the brutes would bite,” said Ned. “I shouldn’t like to trust them,” was the reply. “But oh, what a change since last night,” continued the boy, half-wild with delight, as the sun began to show a little over the edge of the horizon, flooding the world with golden light and turning the pale, silvery lake as it were into glowing fire. The boys only glanced for a moment or two at the glorious scene before them of lake and undulating country backed by mountains. Then, after tying the trailing lariat about the mule’s neck, they mounted their ponies, all dripping as they were, ready for the march to camp, but only to suffer a chill of misery as the same thought struck both— Which was the way back? “Why, we shall never find them!” “Coming here as we did, fast asleep as we must have been,” groaned Ned. “The mule must have smelt the water far-off,” said Chris, “and found the way here.” “Yes, but he won’t find the way back to camp. What shall we do? What shall we do?” There was a piteous, despairing ring in Ned’s voice as he sat gazing woefully in Chris’s eyes. “We might go right away,” said the latter thoughtfully, and then in a tone full of exultation, “We’re a pretty pair,” he cried; “look how plain the hoof-marks are in the sand. Why, we’ve only got to pick up the trail and follow it back. There, you go that way and I’ll go this. It can’t be far away.” “No, of course not,” cried Ned, urging his pony forward in the direction indicated, while Chris started in the other, keeping close to the water’s edge, where the sand was firm. But the mule was not going to be left alone, and followed Chris’s mount. Not for far. Within a hundred yards there were the hoof-prints of the animals, going straight into the shallow lake on one side and on the other leading straight away over the sandy plain, which here came right up to the water’s edge. “Coo-ee!” shouted Chris, and Ned came cantering back. “Found the trail?” he cried. “Yes, here it is, with the mule leading. That’s where he walked right into the lake. And we’ve been abusing mules and calling them names ever since I can remember. Ned, I’ll never be a brute to a mule again. Will you lead?” “No. You found the trail. Go on, and I’ll come last. As fast as you can.” <hr /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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