"Were you ever any thirstier than this in all your life?"

"Yes, sir! This isn't much. Wait till you know yer tongue's a-turnin' to
a dry sponge and there's coals of fire on the back of yer neck. Keep
your courage up, my boy."

Sile had done so. His father had said a good deal to him about the pluck
with which young Indians endured that sort of thing, and he had
determined to show "Indian blood," as if he had some in him. It was the
hardest kind of hard work, and it kept him all the while thinking of
rivers and lakes and ice and even lemonade. At last he saw a sage-hen,
and he said to Pine,

"Isn't that a sign of water?"

"Them things never drink," said Pine "When you come to eat 'em they need
to be b'iled twice. They're jest the driest bird there is. There's the
mountains, though."

"Oh dear me!" groaned Sile. "But they're getting bigger, and perhaps
we'll reach 'em some time."

CHAPTER VII

THE GREAT CANON

It was not yet dark when Two Arrows and One-eye halted at the mouth of
the pass. One-eye looked forward and whined, but his master looked back
and thought the matter over. He had travelled well and over some pretty
rough ground, but the trail had been wide and well marked. It was almost
like a road, so far as room went, but Two Arrows knew nothing of wheels,
neither did that trail. He was considering the curious fact that not a
man of his band knew that such a path existed or where it led to. It was
something to set his ambition on fire only to have discovered and
followed anything so new and remarkable. It was a deed for an old brave
rather than for a boy of fifteen. He needed rest, but when he again
turned and looked into the pass he at once arose and walked on.

"Dark soon. Maybe can't walk then. Do some more before that," said Two
Arrows.

He was in a spot worth looking at. Some old-time convulsion of nature
had cleft the mountain barrier at that place so that giant walls of rock
arose on either side of him for hundreds of feet, almost
perpendicularly. For some distance ahead the cleft was nearly straight,
and its gravelly bottom was from ten to thirty yards wide. There were
not many rocky fragments or bowlders, but it was evident that at some
seasons of the year torrents of water came pouring through that gorge to
keep it clean.

"When snow melts," muttered Two Arrows, "pretty bad place."

No doubt, or after any great storm or "cloud-burst" among the peaks
beyond; but all was dry as