k
as long as you like of the clear, cold, sparkling water--sparkling
water--sparkling water--sparkling--wa--"

"Ah!" said Ned.

"Come, boys; come, boys!" said a familiar voice out of the darkness.

"Sparkling water," repeated Chris drowsily. "Much as you like, Mr
Bourne."

"To be sure, my boy," said the owner of the name, laying one hand upon
Chris's shoulder, the other upon Ned's, but with no effect whatever save
to make them both seem to roll in their saddles as he forced his horse
in between them. "Sit up; come, or you'll be falling out of the saddle.
Very sleepy, Ned?"

"Ah!" grunted the boy.

"Poor fellow!" said Bourne, with a sigh. Then aloud--"Can't you keep
awake, Chris?"

"Spear fish--salmon--sparkling water," sighed the boy, bowing very low
this time.

"Come, try and wake up, my lad; we're getting on higher ground, and it's
not so rocky here. As soon as day begins to break we shall come to a
halt, and rest for a few hours--that is, if we can be sure that there
are no rattlesnakes near."

"Eh? Snakes?" said Chris, sitting very upright now, and gazing in the
face of Ned's father. "Yes, snakes. Made the water taste snaky.
Horrid! Dries up your tongue. Tasted snaky."

"Mine didn't," said Bourne. "I thought it was the sweetest drop I ever
tasted in my life. Come, come, Ned; do you want me to hold you on your
pony? Keep up a little longer, boy."

"Ah!" grunted Ned, straightening himself and feeling about for the
reins, which had escaped his hand, not that any guidance was wanted, the
intelligent beast following the fight of the lanthorn, clearly seen
moving ahead as Griggs' mustang plodded on.

"Why, you're asleep, Ned."

"No, father," answered the boy, telling a most brazen falsehood, for the
moment before he was breathing so hard that the sounds were first
cousins to heavy snores.

"That's right, then. We've had a long weary ride to-day, but we're
going up-hill now and the air's growing cooler. We must be leaving the
sandy plains behind."

"Yes, leave behind. Won't fall off," muttered Ned, who was sinking fast
into a state of stupor.

And all the while from ahead, close by the moving lanthorn, came the
musical _cling, cling, cling, cling_ of the mules' bell, with the low
muttering sound made by the doctor and Griggs as they entered into a
conversation about the state of the country into which they were
penetrating.

"Poor fellows!" said Bourne half-aloud. "I can do nothing